


The Other Side of the Door

by myrabeth



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2020-04-07 22:37:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 68,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19094458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrabeth/pseuds/myrabeth
Summary: The Scoobies are still questioning Buffy and Faith's decision to work together when they suddenly find themselves back down to one slayer, after Buffy and Spike disappear into a portal to another world. But getting their preferred slayer back yields only more questions about the choices both have made.





	1. Dream Team

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Zabjade for her invaluable inspiration, insights, and nitpicking. Also to Spindlekitten and DarkVoid116, for their endless support and willingness to let me ramble about this project unimpeded. Thanks, guys.

**_Chapter 1: Dream Team_ **

_A bell tinkled as Buffy walked in the door of The Magic Box. The place was still recognizable, but had clearly been renovated since her last visit. A half wall had been knocked down to make room for a large round table at the back of the sales floor. At the table, Giles, Anya, Xander, Willow, and two girls Buffy didn't recognize were seated. One had sandy blonde hair and a wide, friendly smile. The other had long, chestnut brown hair, and looked much younger than the others._

_As Buffy approached, a tiny spider dropped down from the ceiling to land on the table just beside the younger girl. Buffy instinctively rushed forward to swat it away, but someone else's hand got there first. She looked up to see that the owner of the hand was Faith._

“ _'Morning, B. Did you have a good sleep? I did.”_

“ _I--I hope so,” Buffy replied, not really knowing what she meant by that._

“ _Comfortable bed. All that white furniture you've got is a little too sweet and girly for me, but your mom said I could paint it.”_

“ _You--You're sleeping in my room?”_

“ _Well, yeah. That's where you put me. In your old places.”_

_Just then, Xander cleared his throat. “It's kinda hard to have a Scooby meeting without the resident slayer.”_

“ _Sorry, man. Got distracted.” With that, Faith turned away from Buffy and took the only empty seat at the table._

_Buffy stared in shock as the meeting commenced, all of them talking casually to each other, and no one acknowledging her presence at all. Her eyes began to drift around the room, settling on a red door in the back wall of the shop that seemed to be calling to her._

_She moved toward it, but found her steps suddenly painful. When she looked down, her feet were bare and bloody, and an unfamiliar male voice whispered in her ear, “Your trials are not yet ended.” When she looked up again, she could see no source for the voice, but something was pounding on the other side of the red door._

_She opened the door to find herself standing shoulder to shoulder with Faith, both staring at a brick wall._

“ _So we finally got here,” the other slayer murmured._

“ _Yeah. But I don't know how.”_

“ _Forgiveness. Choices. All that big stuff people don't talk about. A kiss on the forehead.”_

“ _You aren't the only one who didn't do everything right.” Buffy shifted her weight uncomfortably._

“ _I know. But that's not why we're here.”_

_Faith turned around, and Buffy followed suit. They were standing at the edge of a messy construction site. Rebar and rivets were scattered all over the area, save for a very distinct black void in the middle._

“ _What's that?” Buffy asked._

_Faith's eyes followed the void up until it blended with the night sky above them. “Destiny,” she whispered. “The clock is ticking.”_

“ _I know, but...” Buffy followed her gaze up into the blackness. “Whose destiny?”_

“ _That hasn't been decided yet.”_

“ _Well, that's vague and ominous.”_

_Faith grinned. “Yeah, I know. Kinda sucks.”_

“ _You don't know, either?”_

“ _Nope.”_

“ _Great.” Buffy sighed in resignation. “Yeah, that kinda sucks.”_

_Just then, Spike's voice came from behind them. “Easy, mate! I don't think that leg can hold you both.”_

_Both slayers turned back to face the brick wall, and saw nothing to explain the source of the voice. They looked to each other, and shrugged helplessly._

_That's when a huge, black wrecking ball came barreling through the wall, aimed straight at them. Faith immediately stepped in front of Buffy, ready to take the impact for them both._

“ _Faith! No!”_

_Buffy gave the other slayer a hard shove, knocking her out of the way of the wrecking ball._

_Faith fell safely to the ground a few feet away._

_And then there was nothing but blackness, and a woman's voice whispering in it._

“ _Be back before dawn.”_

*~*~*

Willow woke to the sound of her roommate's voice, speaking into the phone.

“Hey, Mom. I was wondering if I could borrow the credit card. ...Clothes shopping. ...Uh, well, I think I'm skipping classes today. I have something more important going on. ...No, not the shopping. The reason for it. Mom, I think Faith is going to wake up today. ...Because I had a dream. I know it sounds stupid, but slayer dreams are, like, sent from on high, you know? Anyway, she's going to need some stuff. ...Just some basics. Clothes, toothbrush, stuff like that. And maybe lunch?”

Willow rolled to her side as she opened her eyes. Buffy was sitting on the edge of the bed across from her own, still in her pajamas, twisting the phone cord around her fingers nervously while she talked.

“It's that, well, how we left things? It wasn't as bad as it looked from the outside... I don't know how to explain it. I just know. ...Yeah, because of slayer dreams. I promise I'm not crazy. But I've been too slow on the uptake with these dreams before, and it's ended really, really badly. Remember that plate you broke a couple of years ago? ... Never mind. Just _please_ trust me on this.”

Her expression brightened at the response she received. “Thanks, Mom. You're the best. I'm about to get in the shower, and then I'm going to call Giles. His place is closer to the gallery than the campus is. Can I have him swing by to pick up the card? ...I promise I'll return it in person. I've been missing you, too. ..Ok. Love you, too. ...Bye.”

When Buffy hung up the phone, she noticed the open eyes of her friend. “How much of that did you hear?”

“All of it, I think.” Willow stretched and sat up in the bed. “Your mom is right. You're crazy. The last time you talked to Faith, it was almost a death match.”

“Not exactly.”

“Buffy, you can't count your dreams as talking to her. They could be slayer dreams, with some mysterious person from the Powers that Be making Faith say stuff you want to hear, or just your own brain trying to sort things out, like normal dreams.”

“Or I was talking to her.”

“Or even some combination of all three. In other words, totally unreliable.” Willow sighed. “You know, like Faith?”

Buffy crossed the room to pick up her towel and her toiletries bag. “She's supposed to be here. With us. And she wants a second chance to try. I intend to give it to her.”

Willow had no opportunity to reply as her roommate closed the dorm room door behind her.

Out in the hall, Buffy's bravado failed, and she paused to lean against the wall. “ _One_ of us is supposed to be here, anyway,” she whispered to herself.

 

 


	2. Tomorrow's Girl

**_Chapter 2: Tomorrow's Girl_ **

“And then there's this giant wrecking ball swinging through the wall, like _whoosh!_ She gets close to it, I knock her out of the way, and then -just as it's about to make me 2D- I wake up.” Buffy flopped into the hard plastic chair beside the one Giles was occupying. “So what does _that_ part mean?”

“That you don't want me dead anymore?” came a raspy whisper from the hospital bed across the room. “'Cause that shove sure as hell felt like you meant it.”

Buffy was on her feet again immediately. By the time she reached the bed, Faith was already detaching herself from the machines surrounding her, causing them to beep loudly. “Hey, slow down. Let me get a doctor.”

Faith glared.

“Ok, fine. No doctors.” Buffy waved for Giles to leave the room ahead of her. “There's a set of clothes for you in the bathroom. We'll get you more stuff later. Are you ok to get there on your own?”

“Yeah... I'm good.” The patient didn't seem to know how to accept these kindnesses. “Uh, thanks.” She didn't speak again until her guests were nearly gone. “B?”

Buffy turned back at the doorway, knowing what question was coming. “Almost nine months.”

“Damn. That was one hell of a fall.” Faith paused for a response, but found the other slayer shifting her weight awkwardly, unwilling to talk about it. “I'm guessing Wilkins is dead?”

“Not before he turned into Sunnydale's own Nessie. We blew up the school with him in it.”

“Keep that shit up, B, you're gonna get a reputation.”

Buffy chuckled. “I never should have told you about Hemery. ...I also told the Council where they could shove it.”

“It's about time.” Faith held up a hand to stop Buffy from inching out of the room. “One more thing: That girl... Was that Little Miss Muffet?”

“I have no idea.” Buffy began to pull the door closed. “Get cleaned up and dressed, and we'll break you out of here. It's _way_ past lunchtime, and I'm starved. Pizza sound good?”

“Any food that isn't mush in a tube sounds good.”

“Fair enough.”

When the door clicked closed, Faith went to the bathroom to find her gifts were in a shopping bag beside the sink. Stacked on top of a pair of dark wash jeans and wine red tank top, she found a zippered mesh bag filled with basic toiletries, with the bonus of a tube of lipstick close in shade to that of the tank top. When she lifted that stack out, she found socks and underclothes wrapped in a black denim jacket. Upon lifting away the jacket, she discovered something sitting at the bottom of the bag between a pair of black ankle boots that made her smile.

“Yeah, I think she meant it.”

Out in the hall, Giles frowned in the direction of the nearest nurses' station, his long-standing suspicions rising as the seconds continued to pass with no response to the fact that Faith's vital signs had stopped transmitting to the machines.

Buffy closed the door to Faith's room and came to stand with him. “I told you so.”

“I never said I doubted the veracity of your dr--”

“No, but you got all Watcher-faced about it. Make the call.”

His worried frown shifted into one of mild irritation, but he chose to dismiss the potential argument. “You're sure?”

Buffy pointed down the hall to a payphone. “Tell them if they send another Wesley, he'll be shipped back _cargo_. She needs time to figure herself out, without the Council getting in the way.”

“So the slayer is awake, is she?” came a voice from behind them.

They turned around to find a stony-faced nurse staring them down.

Buffy quirked her mouth to the side. “I'll say it for you, Giles: You told me so.”

“Thank you.” He smiled tightly, making a concerted effort not to appear as gratified as he felt.

“You're welcome.” She grabbed the nurse by her shirtfront with her right hand, clapped her left hand over the woman's mouth, and dragged her toward Faith's room, frowning over her hostage's shoulder at the watcher. “Now would be a good time to be the first one to call them, Giles!”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” Giles dropped his smile and jerked into motion, hurrying toward the payphone as the door closed behind the two women.

“Hey, Faith?” Buffy called toward the bathroom, loud enough to be heard over the sound of running water. “Are you going to be a few minutes?”

“Yeah. Why? You _can't_ be as hungry as I am.”

“Just checking.” Buffy dropped her hand from the face of the frightened woman she held. “We're going to hang out here - _quietly_ \- until my watcher talks to the Council, ok?”

“You-you aren't going to have her kill me?”

Buffy abruptly let go of the nurse's uniform. “No! Obviously! They didn't have to tell you much to buy you off, did they?”

“They said she was dangerous, and if she woke up, they'd need to know right away. And if she didn't...”

“It wouldn't be bad news?”

The nurse nodded.

“Which I'm guessing is why these machines are rigged to not send alerts to the nurses' station.” Buffy gave her hostage a small push toward the bed. “Shut off the beeping and get comfortable. We might be here a while.”

When Giles re-entered the room nearly fifteen minutes later, the nurse was sitting in the visitor's chair he had previously occupied, wringing her hands nervously. Buffy stood beside her, ready to grab her if she tried to bolt.

“Travers has agreed to a trial period.”

Buffy looked surprised.

“Slayer dreams that strongly imply Faith has a future as a working slayer are difficult to argue. The Council enjoys appearing to be the ultimate power in slayer matters, but the dreams come from a higher power still.”

“And yet the words 'too easy' are still ringing in my head.”

“I suspect two slayers, united against them, is a situation they are reluctant to face unless they are certain it is necessary.”

Buffy visibly relaxed. “ _That_ I buy.” She called toward the bathroom. “Faith? Ready?”

The other slayer capped her lipstick and shrugged into her jacket. She walked out of the bathroom a moment later with the mesh bag in one hand and the gift that had been left at the bottom of the shopping bag in the other. “Let's blow this joint.” She frowned at the nurse. “Who's this?”

“Council spy,” Buffy explained simply.

“Oh.”

“It's been taken care of,” Giles assured her.

“Cool.” Faith shoved Mr. Pointy into the back of her waistband and tried to accept the watcher's word at face value. “So... Pizza?”

*~*~*

Following a long afternoon at the mall, Giles pulled up to the curb in front of 1630 Revello Drive just as the sun was setting. He addressed his front seat passenger. “Are you sure about this?”

From the backseat, Faith added, “'Cause I don't think that part of the dream was supposed to be taken literally.”

Buffy shrugged. “Literal or not, it's a good idea. I'm living at the dorm, and my room is just _sitting_ there.” She looked over her shoulder. “And Mom always liked you.”

“I think she liked me mostly because I lowered the odds of you turning up dead, B.”

“Maybe a little. But inviting you to Christmas was her idea.”

“Well, that's _something_.”

“And it will just be temporary, until we figure out something permanent.” Buffy opened the door. “Go on home, Giles. We'll talk to Mom, get Faith settled in, and walk over to your place to talk to everybody.”

“Talk to...?”

“I sleep four feet from Willow,” she reminded him. “She knows exactly what we've been up to today. They're probably all waiting at your door by now, looking cranky.”

Giles sighed tiredly. “Please don't be long.”

Both slayers gave him less-than-sympathetic grins as they climbed out of the car, taking a half dozen shopping bags with them.

He called out to them just before the door was closed. “Faith, if Mrs. Summers declines...”

“You offering me your couch, Jeeves?”

“Some arrangement could be made.” He cleared his throat. “While neither of you officially has a watcher, uh, well...”

Buffy understood the subtext, and whispered loudly to her compatriot. “That's Stuffy British for 'I want to help.' Just say 'thank you' and close the door before he gets more awkward.”

Giles, having easily heard this, glared at Buffy, who offered a cheeky grin in return.

Faith laughed off the interaction, then took her fellow slayer's advice. “Thanks, man. We'll catch up with you later.” She closed the door without waiting for a reply, then turned to Buffy. “Got any advice for talking your mom into keeping me off your watcher's couch?”

Buffy led the way up the walk to the front door. “Ok, lesson one: Don't get the cops called on you. She _hates_ that. Lesson two: Rinse your dirty dishes and put them in the dishwasher, or you'll _wish_ your biggest problem was cops at the door...”

*~*~*

Buffy and Faith stood just outside Giles' front door, listening to the loud conversation taking place within.

Willow's voice was unmistakable. “Am I the only one who thinks we shouldn't put all our trust in some strange dreams? I mean, sure, they could have been sent from some higher power, but they also could have been sent by some bad cafeteria food. Speaking as someone she threatened to kill, I'm not loving the assumption that Taco Tuesday at the Student Union _isn't_ the driving force, here.”

Giles' sigh was loud enough to be heard outside. “Slayer dreams do not come from tacos, Willow. The clarity, detail, and retention make them distinctly different from--”

“She's crazy, G-man. We all know it. And the only reason she doesn't have a rap sheet a mile long is that the city was being run by the Granddaddy Snake Monster of Corruption.”

“Everyone has a past, Xander. That does not preclude the opportunity of a future. Buffy has a history with the police, too, if you recall. As do I.”

“Oh, this is gonna be a _fun_ night. Packed full of dirty laundry. Rupes, you're gonna want more Scotch. And the bourbon bottle's a bit low.”

“Is _that_ why you're here? To steal my liquor?”

Outside, Buffy rolled her eyes toward the sky. “Seriously?”

“Bypassing the 'Buffy and the police' thing for a minute -and don't think I won't ask later- but, uh... Who's Faith?”

Faith raised an eyebrow at her companion. “Newbie?”

“Boyfriend.”

“You don't sound thrilled about him being here.”

“I guess I'm glad he got away from the military doctors- 'cause I _really_ don't trust those guys- but the eye roll was for someone else. ...He's _such_ a pain in the ass.”

“The boyfriend, or the other one?”

Buffy gestured toward the door. “Are we going in, or not?”

“As much as I don't want that shitstorm directed at me in person, I'm curious about this new vamp you've got in there. Feels old. Powerful.”

“Tell him that. It'll make him feel better about himself.”

“You're worried about a vamp's ego? It must be serious.”

“I'm not. But it's kind of a serious situation. Again with the military doctors. I'll explain later.”

Faith listened to a few more seconds of her past exploits being described by Xander and Willow, then turned to head back the way they'd come. “Eh, maybe not _that_ curious.”

“Faith, wait.”

She turned back and gestured toward Giles' apartment. “B, this is an _ocean_ of bad ideas, and you know it. I appreciate you trying to halfway house me, an' all, but...” She shook her head and took a step backward, inching further away. “I'm just gonna bounce. Maybe I can catch a bus to someplace where... someplace away.”

“You sounded like you meant it.” Buffy challenged. “That our destinies haven't been decided yet. Finding out what that means matters, doesn't it? ...Don't you want to make that decision _with_ me?”

“From the sounds of things, _they_ decided without _you_.”

Buffy pointed back toward the apartment. “ _They_ don't get to decide. That dream wasn't sent to them, and it wasn't _about_ them. It was about _us_. I don't know what's going to happen, or how we'll get there, but I _saw_ you jump in front of me to take a hit in my place. I _know_ that means something. So you can walk away if you want to, leave the decisions to someone else, leave whatever questions of destiny are still up in the air to fall without you having a say in how they land. ...Or you can walk in there with me and make a stand.”

“And what kind of stand would that be? That I'm the boogeyman with blood on her hands? That I helped Wilkins when he was planing to have Sunnydale for an appetizer?”

“That you're a slayer.” Buffy nodded toward the sky symbolically. “I don't know who makes that choice, but someone does, or they wouldn't call us Chosen Ones. Do you think you got Kendra's power by accident? Because _I_ don't.”

Faith reversed her last step, one foot landing tentatively in front of the other. “You don't?”

“I think our shared dreams have made one thing abundantly clear: Our futures are linked, and probably always have been. And the whole 'deciding destiny' thing? I think those are choices we _both_ have to make, or they wouldn't be in a shared dream to begin with.”

She studied Buffy's earnest expression for a moment before closing the gap between them. “Would have been nice if we got those dreams before you almost killed me.”

“Yeah, well, live and learn. Also, at the time... I kinda thought you deserved it.” Buffy reached for the door. “Now you get to take a stab at deserving something better.” She winced at the look Faith gave her. “Poor choice of words.”

Faith sighed. “This is gonna be a long night, isn't it?”

“Let's just put it this way: You'll think your coma was more fun. ...Ready?”

“To grovel?”

“To walk in there with me and take your place as a slayer. ...And maybe grovel a little on the side.”

Faith kept on frowning at the door, unsure.

Buffy played her ace. “We have a horrifying new Franken-monster to hunt.”

“Sounds fun.” Faith nodded for her to open the door. “I'm ready.”

 


	3. Mistaken Identities

 

**_Chapter 3: Mistaken Identities_ **

“Slayer!”

The hissing whisper coming from the direction of the courtyard stairs drew both slayers away from the watcher's door.

The speaker's eyes widened at the sight of Buffy emerging from the shadows behind Faith. “Shit! I did _not_ get paid enough for this.”

Buffy squinted at the demon. “Malibu Jimmy?”

“You know this guy, B?”

“Regular at Willy's. He's usually at the back corner of the bar, sucking down coconut rum like it's going out of style.” She addressed the demon. “What do you want?”

“Package for her.” He gestured for Faith to come closer. “But for the record, I'm just a messenger. I didn't cross either of you, alright?”

“Just hand it over, Jimmy. And tell me who paid you.”

Jimmy shook his head resolutely, refusing to answer. He tossed the bulky manila envelope he held into Faith's hands the instant she got close enough to him to catch it, and scrambled back up the stairs, disappearing into the night before either of them could ask anymore questions.

Buffy shrugged. “No big deal. We know where to find him later if we need to question him.”

Faith inspected the envelope on their way back to the door. The handwriting on the outside was familiar, but with her name being the only word to go by, she couldn't be sure. She pulled her eyes away from it when Buffy's hand was back on the door knob. “Uh, yeah. Gotta check out that old vamp, right?”

“Prepared to be annoyed.” Buffy opened the door and led them inside, bringing the conversation inside to a halt. “Guys, most of you remember Faith.” She waved in introduction to the man sitting by the fireplace. “Faith, this is--”

Faith immediately moved toward Spike, who was leaning against the outer ledge of the kitchen pass-through. “Cold Delicious is what this is. Damn, B. Nice upgrade. You didn't tell me the new one made Angel look like a caveman.”

Spike raised an eyebrow at Buffy in question, but was too distracted by the curvy brunette sidling up to him to wait for an answer.

Buffy cleared her throat to draw Faith and Spike away from their mutual leering. She continued to wave in introduction to the other side of the room. “This is Riley. My boyfriend.”

“ _Really_?” Faith looked from Buffy, to Spike, and back to Buffy again, her face scrunched up in confusion. She then turned to look at the person Buffy was gesturing toward, and all expression dropped from her face. “Oh. Yeah, I guess I get it. Caveman with a pulse. Makes sense.”

“Why do I suddenly feel like a piece of meat?” Riley complained.

“Me, too.” Spike kept on smirking at Faith. “I like this one.”

“Trust me on this guys,” Xander interjected. “Bad idea.”

Riley's eyes widened.

“And now it gets good.” Spike turned back to the pass-through and poured himself a shot from the first bottle he could reach.

Buffy sighed. “Giles, are you _ever_ going to remove his invite?”

“I'm still muddled up on one thing.” Faith pointed back and forth between Riley and Spike. “Which one had the run in with the military doctors, and which one has the fragile ego?”

“Yes,” Anya said simply, ignoring the glares she received from both of the men in question.

Faith gave her a nod of thanks. “Ok. Got it.” She turned back to Spike, clearly intrigued. “Faith.”

“Spike.”

“Spike? As in William the Bloody?” On receiving a nod of confirmation, she shook her head. “Damn, B. You've got a thing for the famous ones, don't you?”

“I don't have a _thing_ \--”

Faith wasn't listening for an answer. Her attention was still on Spike. “Hanging out with a slayer's crew with a rep like yours? Soul?”

Spike gestured vaguely toward Riley before downing his shot. “His lot put a microchip in my brain. Can't bite humans.”

“Huh. I guess that's safer.” She studied him for a moment. “But you don't feel all that safe to me.”

“Thanks, Slayer.” Spike threw a glare in Buffy's direction. “At least _someone_ doesn't think I'm a pet they can just--”

“Let into the house to consume all the liquor and half the groceries?” Giles suggested.

“Keep around just to point and laugh at?” Xander offered.

“Guys, please. Can we _not_ deal with the Spike problem tonight?”

Riley nodded to his girlfriend in agreement. “I thought this meeting would be about Adam.”

“No,” Willow said quietly, having been carefully watching every move Faith made. “We have a more immediate problem.”

Buffy pretended not to catch her friend's meaning. “Like the demon we met outside, making a special delivery.”

Faith took the cue. “Oh, yeah.” She tore open the envelope and shook its contents out onto Giles' desk. “Word must already be getting out that I'm awake.” A slightly oversized jeweler's box and a VHS tape didn't look interesting enough to draw attention until she waved the envelope. “Handwriting looks like Wilkins'.”

All the suspicious looks that been thrown at Faith promptly went to the items on the desk, and then the group sprung into motion. Xander dug Giles' television out from behind its wall of books in the corner. Anya helped him connect the dusty VCR on the shelf behind it. Giles opened the jeweler's box to study the object within. Willow began turning chairs to face the television. Buffy took the envelope from Faith to inspect it. Faith took Spike's shot glass and helped herself to some Scotch.

Riley stood up to get out of the way as he watched them. “Uh, is it normal for you guys to get messages from the dead?”

“They aren't usually on tape,” Xander said distractedly as he switched the television to channel three.

Spike snickered at Riley's expression. “Relax, White Bread. He's pulling your chain. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Riley's tone was decidedly nervous.

Buffy looked up from the envelope, intending to glare at Spike, but found herself struggling not to giggle. “Evil,” she whispered.

“Am I wrong?” he whispered back.

“That's not the point.”

*~*~*

Faith found herself unable to sit still through Richard Wilkins' message to her. By the time the video ended, her pacing had led her back to the desk, where she was fidgeting with the device from the jeweler's box.

While Xander rewound the tape, everyone else looked to her, waiting for a response.

She pretended not to notice them as she studied the object in her hand. She slowly looked up and turned toward Buffy, who was sharing a chair with Riley. “I thought he was the only one who... I guess he thought so, too.”

“Sounds like it.”

Giles cleared his throat. “People who are not redeemable have a difficult time seeing that others might be.”

Willow frowned at him, clearly unhappy with the stance he was taking. She was cut off from voicing her concerns again by Faith's quiet words.

“That's nice of you to say, but—”

He came over to her to put a hand to her shoulder. “I've no intention of being nice, Faith. 'Might be' is a long distance from 'provably.'” He threw a pointed glance at Willow. “No one is _giving_ you their trust, merely opening a door for trust to be earned, on both sides.”

“Except the Buffster,” Xander threw in, drawing everyone's attention. “She just handed it over, based on some weird taco dreams.”

Buffy drew in a deep breath, readying herself to argue, but realized she couldn't. “You don't know what you're talking about, Xan,” she whispered instead, her eyes drifting accusingly to her roommate.

The soft clatter of the device being dropped back into the jeweler's box drew attention back to the desk. Faith closed the box and offered it to Giles. “I guess you want to look into this.”

He stared at the box as it was placed in his palm, not having expected the weapon to be handed off so easily. When he looked up at her, she shrugged it off.

“B, I think I need some air.”

Buffy hopped up from her perch on Riley's lap. “I'll come with you. Researching an evil switch-a-roo gadget is _not_ my idea of fun.”

“Buffy...” Riley stood up behind her.

She waved him off. “Don't worry about us. We just need to blow off a little steam.”

“Two slayers, no waiting?” Faith asked with a smirk.

“Yeah, we might be able to scrounge up a nest.”

The last thing they heard as they closed the door behind them was Willow's groan of complaint. “Oh, great. Here we go again.”

*~*~*

“So you didn't really answer the question. Who's the bigger pain in the ass?”

“Spike. Isn't it obvious?”

“B, you barely even talked to the boyfriend the whole time. You mostly used him as a chair.”

Buffy took the lead, brushing off the conversation. “Don't you want to hear more about Adam?”

“Nah, I think I got the gist.” Faith jumped over a headstone to retake her place beside her fellow slayer. “Where are we headed, anyway? Aren't most of the crypts down at the east end?”

“See that clump of willow trees up the hill? There's a clearing in the middle.”

“Ok. So?”

“It's one of my favorite spots in Sunnydale. Good for thinking, and getting some perspective on stuff. You'll like it.”

“It's also in a graveyard, B. You like to chill where you work?”

Buffy shrugged. “This job screws us all up, Faith. It just does it in different ways.”

They were about to push through the curtain of willow branches when an approaching strong vampiric signature caused them both to turn around.

“Evening, pets. Doing a little stargazing?”

Buffy's brow creased as she glanced back to their destination. “How do you kn--? ...Stalker.”

Spike shrugged and addressed Faith. “She's right, though. It's a good view.”

Buffy gritted her teeth. “What are you doing here, Spike? And don't say you came to stargaze.”

He ran his fingers along the hanging branches as he came closer. “Got bored with listening to the children whinge about Miss Charm and Harm here. And I'm kinda hoping you two decide to kill each other instead of whatever nasties come out to play tonight. Would be a good show.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed. “I'd dust his annoying ass,” she explained to Faith. “But he can't fight back.”

Faith shrugged. “Spoils the fun. I get it.”

“No. I just mean it wouldn't be fair. In _no_ way is putting up with Spike -even with a stake in my hand- something I'd consider _fun._ ”

“Uh-huh.” Faith didn't look like she believed that answer. “I'm not much of a stargazer, anyway.” She turned to start back down the hill.

“Might want to be, tonight. Unless you fancy your tin soldier finding you and dulling the party.” Spike nodded over his shoulder. “Followed me out. Hanging back a bit. Thinks he's being stealthy.”

“Great,” Buffy grumbled, followed by a sigh directed toward the sky.

“You wanna rethink your answer to that question, B?”

“Shut up, _F_.” She started down the hill behind her fellow slayer, then stopped to glare back at Spike. “And _you_ can go away.”

“Might as well let him tag along, B. He's not hurting anything, and he's kinda fun.”

“He's a _pest_.”

“Afraid I'll steal your kills, Slayer?” Spike asked as he trailed behind them.

“More like afraid you won't shut up all night.”

Faith's abrupt stop in front of them ended the bickering. “What the hell...?”

Down the hill from them, a bright purple light was flickering in the middle of an open area between the crypts. While they watched, the flickering slowed into a strong, stable brightness, and something that looked like a doorway began to open within it. At the sounds of guns firing on the other side of it, both slayers went running toward the disturbance, with the curious vampire right behind them.

As they neared the doorway, the area behind it was blasted with bright, orange light and the sounds of an explosion.

“It's a portal,” Spike murmured, stepping between the slayers to get a closer look.

Buffy grabbed him by the arm to pull him back. “Apparently to a hell dimension, or someplace that's in the process of _becoming_ one. There's no telling _what_ is going to come out of this thing. Go back to Giles' place. Willow should still be there. Maybe she can close it before it brings whatever apocalypse is going on in _there_ to _here._ ”

He shook free of her grasp. “Not your errand boy. You can't just order me about like you do that doughnut-fetching whelp.”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes again, and then forced her tone into something bordering on polite. “Spike, would you _please_ go get Willow and Giles while we stand guard over this thing?”

He smirked. “That's better. Now, can you do that on your knees?”

Faith's elbow jabbed into his ribs. “Cool it, Blondie. Something's coming through.”

Buffy and Spike returned their attention to the portal in time to see a human woman in a dark green dress stumble through, being pushed by a wide-shouldered, orange-skinned demon dressed in dark grey.

They fell to the grass at the feet of the onlookers, both clearly injured. The demon pulled himself up on his elbows to look back through the portal as it began to flicker again. “Micheal!” he shouted.

The woman reached out to him, bringing a weak hand to rest on his. “Tae shar'in fon Rasha se Vereen, Lieutenant,” she whispered. “He's gone to his ancestors.” She lifted her hand from his to wave it toward the portal, snapping it closed.

Before the silence had settled around them, the demon found a stake being held near his throat.

“Why don't you move away from the hostage, and tell me who Michael is?”

The woman looked up at Faith, shaking her head slowly. “Dravon is not my captor, girl. He's my rescuer.”

Startled by this revelation, Faith took a step back, lowering her weapon.

“And he's been shot.” She nodded to the bleeding wound in Dravon's leg. “I'm in no condition to try to heal him. We need to get back.” She tried to sit upright, but found her elbows unwilling to take the required weight, and fell back.

“He's not the only one who's hurt.” Buffy dropped down to kneel beside the woman, and used the cuff of her jacket sleeve to dab at the stranger's bleeding head wound. “We should get you to a hospital.”

“No. I'm just... lightheaded. A little dizzy. I need only rest for a moment, then we'll be gone, and you can forget you ever saw us.”

Dravon managed to pull himself fully into a sitting position, supported by Spike, who had crouched down beside him. “Where did you bring us, Polly?” he asked in perfect English. “None of these smell quite human.” He squinted at the man against whom he was leaning. “Especially this one.”

“Terra'bo,” she answered, still looking curiously at the young woman kneeling beside her. “There are energy gateways scattered all over the old world. I'm so weak, I wasn't certain I could get us back to camp with an on-world portal. The gateway supplemented my power.”

“Gateway?” Faith asked. She looked to her companions. “Should we take that to mean Hellmouth?”

“Hellmouth,” Spike and Buffy confirmed in near unison.

“Welcome back to the world, Faith,” Buffy added as she helped Polly sit up. “It just keeps getting weirder.” She addressed the stranger she held. “So you're a witch?”

Dravon reached out to his companion in an attempt to snatch her from Buffy's grasp. “No!”

Spike pulled him back. “It's alright, mate. No one's gonna hurt her.” He nodded toward Buffy. “This chit's best friend is a witch. Not a _good_ one, of course. Reckless novice, at best.”

“Shut up, Spike.”

“Come on, Slayer! You can't argue that. The girl nearly made you _my wife_!”

Faith's eyes widened. “Say whaaat?”

Polly answered Dravon's questioning look with a whisper. “'Wife' grendo fay'rol fon Katyan ah tae terra'bo.”

Dravon frowned at Buffy, then at the man who held him. “But you're...” He sniffed. “A vampire?”

“Yeah, mate.”

“Strange.” Dravon looked again to his companion. “We shouldn't stay here. Can you stand?”

“I believe so.” With Buffy's help, Polly struggled to her feet, but found keeping herself upright impossible. She blinked and squinted against the darkness caused by her falling blood pressure while Buffy held her up. “When it begins to open, you'll have to step back. These things have a pulling effect.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said quietly. “I know.” She kept her arm tightly around Polly's waist. “I still vote for a hospital first.”

“Why would you want to go back there, anyway?” Faith asked. “It didn't look all that fun.”

“Wars never are. But we'll be returning to our own encampment, slightly further from the front line.” At Buffy's continued skeptical expression, she offered a gentle smile. “It's kind of you to worry for me, girl, but it isn't your place to do so.”

Summoning all the energy she could, Polly brought the flickering purple light back. But as she fought through her pain to focus on expanding it into an open portal, her knees began to give out from under her. Buffy was supporting nearly all of her weight by the time the portal was half the size the previous one had been.

“Buffy!”

Riley's distant shout brought all eyes but Polly's away from the fledgling portal.

Buffy tried to wave him away with her free hand. “Stay back!”

He ignored her, opting to break into a jog.

Faith took up a position between Polly and Riley. “Seriously, dude. Keep your distance. This lady's playing with some serious mojo.”

Riley reluctantly slowed. The increasing size of the portal drew attention away from him, so no one saw that he was still moving toward them, his eyes locked on the unfamiliar demon Spike seemed to be protecting.

“Help me up,” Dravon grunted. “She's almost got it.”

It took both Spike and Faith to carefully lift the large, muscular creature without further injury to his right leg. Once he was up, Faith took a step back, but Spike was on Dravon's right, and thus was still supporting some of his weight. The pair moved as one to get close enough to Polly for Dravon's arm to take the place of Buffy's around the witch's waist.

“Step away, girl. The portal's nearly open. And you, vampire.”

First Buffy, then Spike took a step back from the pair of travelers. But Spike immediately moved forward again to catch the demon before he fell. “Easy, mate! I don't think that leg can hold you both.”

Buffy and Faith turned to each other, both with wide eyes. But before either of them could react further, the portal fully opened, and began to pull the strangers -and inadvertently Spike- into it.

Buffy instinctively rushed forward to grab Spike by the arm, trying to drag him back.

But it was too late. Spike was being dragged into the portal, and so was she.

She glanced back to find Faith reaching for her, and their eyes met again, still wide with realization.

“Faith, no!”

Buffy gave her sister slayer a hard shove away just as she completely lost her footing. The last thing she saw before the draw of the portal turned her body fully toward it was Faith landing in the grass with a look of understanding dawning on her face.

When she landed face down in foreign grass, Buffy heard Riley's voice again, calling out to her. But by the time she rolled on to her side to look back, the portal was gone.

On the other side of the closed door, Riley looked to Faith. “What...? Where...? What _was_ that?”

Faith studied the open air where the portal had been for a long time before whispering, “One hell of a wrecking ball.”

 


	4. Destiny's Authors

 

_**Chapter 4: Destiny's Authors** _

_Six months later_

Faith looked around the candlelit room, her eyes falling on a broken wall sconce and a pile of chains on the floor below it. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, a symbolic ward against the feeling of vulnerability that was washing over her. “Man, I _really_ don't like this place. I wouldn't mind seeing it burn.”

“Get in line,” Giles said through gritted teeth.

“Me, too,” Riley chimed in. “This place gives me the willies.”

Faith, Giles, and Xander all turned to look at him.

“What? Dark, dreary, abandoned mansion on a hill. That's creepy. ...Right?”

“He's not wrong,” Anya said. “But I think he's missing the point of all of you glaring at him.”

“What am I missing?”

“Me,” Angel answered, coming in through the open garden doors. “Thanks for coming up, everyone.”

“So what's with the cryptic, Ange? You bring a little doom and destruction home from Europe?”

“Sorry to disappoint, Faith. All I brought back was a book.”

“Prophecy?” Giles asked.

Xander groaned. “Please, no. That never ends well.”

“Something Willow wants to show you.” Angel glanced out into the garden. “They're almost ready.” He gestured to the dusty chairs and couch. “You can sit if you want. I can bring in the wrought iron chairs from the garden, if we need more room. Or the wheelchair from down the hall.”

“Or a very uncomfortable wooden dining chair from the next room,” Giles grumbled.

Angel looked away. No one made a move toward the lounge area.

Anya broke the awkward moment by creating another. “Why do you have a wheelchair?”

“It was Spike's,” Xander explained quietly. “Buffy almost got him once.”

“So there's history here.” Riley fixed a hard look on Angel. “That's what's bothering everyone. I can't say there's not a little history bugging _me_ right now.”

Angel sighed in exasperation. “Why are you even still in Sunnydale? Shouldn't you be back in Nebraska, husking corn or something?”

“Iowa. And _some_ people honor people they care about by continuing their work, instead of running off to Europe for months, looking for... a book?”

Angel looked to the slayer. “He's patrolling with you?”

Faith took in a long, deep breath and let it out slowly while she rocked on her heels. “Oh, yeah. Every night.”

“And you haven't killed him yet?”

“Waiting on you, Fang.” She waved to the assembled group. “Might buy you a little goodwill, make up for dragging us all back to your personal house of horrors.”

“It's so nice to be appreciated,” Riley muttered, his gaze drifting to his feet. “Hey, why are there burn marks on the floor?”

They were saved from having to provide an answer by Willow and Tara's slow careful steps through the doorway behind the vampire. They were carrying a large, glowing sphere between them. As they came closer to their audience, it became obvious the sphere was not a solid object, but a conjuring of light, a swirling mass of magic, weaving gold and purple light together in a large knot between their hands.

Faith spoke for everyone. “What the hell?”

“T-t-tell them, sweetie.”

Willow waited until the two of them had lowered the glowing light to the floor and disentangled themselves from it before answering. “Angel found what we needed.” She took a deep breath. “Leita og fara aftur.”

The ball of light began to glow brighter with those words, but almost everyone was too busy staring at Willow to notice.

“It's a seeker spell,” Willow explained. “It took both of us to conjure it, and we'll probably be pretty tired for a few days, but-- Ooh! Look! It found something! Any minute now.”

Tara, standing beside Willow, felt eyes boring into her as well as their intended target. “It- It's- It's a trans-dimensional seeker. It's already locked onto one target. When the other comes into range of that one... I- I mean, we d-don't know if they'll be near each other...”

“If they aren't, we can do another one, aimed just at Buffy. Tara thought we should try getting them both first.” Willow couldn't take her eyes off the glowing, swirling light. “But if they get close enough to each other that one portal can get them both--”

As she spoke, the group began to understand what was happening, and everyone reacted at once.

Riley's jaw dropped as his gaze fixated on the light. “Buffy,” he whispered.

Xander pointed in the same direction. “So that target lock means she's alive?”

Giles looked worried. “Willow, please tell me I'm misunderstanding this.”

“I told you so,” Anya muttered to Xander.

Faith's voice was the loudest. “Shut it down! Now!”

The seeker found its second target just as Faith attempted to kick at it, and the force of the next stage of the spell taking effect knocked her to the floor. That second stage was a bright purple light.

“Oh, Shit! Willow! Shut it down!”

The portal opened into a view of two people, falling toward the mansion's main hall from a brightly lit office with two frantic-looking men behind them, and the sound of sirens coming from some unseen source. The portal snapped closed the instant the pair hit the stone floor, taking the remaining light from the seeker spell with it.

For a moment the room was silent, as everyone tried to comprehend what had just happened.

A woman who was undoubtedly Buffy Summers, wearing a dark grey military uniform with a dirk hanging from her belt, scrambled to her feet, blinking rapidly in an effort to adjust her eyes to the candlelit room. She reached for the man who had landed beside her, helping him up while still squinting into their dim surroundings.

The owner of the hand she had taken was barely recognizable to their audience. His dark, curly hair, tanned skin, dark blue jeans, untucked white button-up shirt, and short brown jacket were different enough from what they had known to cause the assembled group to focus on his lightly freckled face to be certain of his identity.

Once on his feet, he reached for the woman who had landed on the floor just before them, only a couple of feet away. He frowned when he realized whose hand was in his. “Slayer?”

Faith could think of nothing to say except “Holy shit.”

Just as Buffy began to be able to discern faces around her, one of them moved closer.

Riley rushed toward Buffy, arms outstretched for an embrace. He was stopped just short of reaching her by the blade she had pointed at his throat.

“One more step, and you get to meet your ancestors, chea'pah,” she nearly growled. “Back away.”

His arms dropped to his sides. “Buffy? I don't--”

“Step. Back.” She stared him down until he complied. “Tell me how you know my name.”

“Katyan,” Spike interrupted quietly, his focus drifting from Faith to the others around them. “I think they all do.”

She lowered her dirk as she turned to survey the room with him, but did not sheathe it. She was finally able to see things more clearly, and the first face to come fully into focus caused a glimmer of recognition to flash across her face. “... _Giles_?”

Giles spoke gently. “Yes. It's been a long time.”

“It has.” Buffy took another look around at the sea of faces, some more familiar than others, and the room in which they stood, which brought forth strong echoes of nearly forgotten pain. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Terra'bo. They brought us back.”

“Yeah.” Spike followed her gaze. “And I left your dinner on the stove.”

“Buffy?” Willow asked, taking a cautious step away from Tara's side and toward her friend. “Are you ok? Was it... Was it a hell dimension?”

“It wasn't,” Faith answered, finally pulling herself out of her stupor. “Unless you think she's one of the hellions. She's dressed just like the demon who came through the portal. Frandrey, right?”

Buffy sheathed her dirk as she studied the other slayer's face. “Yeah. How do you...?” Her eyes widened in realization. “The letter? ...My mom?”

Faith's words of assurance were drowned out by Willow. “What letter?”

“I wrote a letter...” Buffy frowned at the witch, trying to remember the details. “It wasn't meant for you, I think.” She shook her head. “It was a long time ago.”

She took another long look around the room, this time taking the time to try to connect faces to old memories she'd made no especial effort to retain. Eventually her eyes met Angel's. “Katyan, I think I need a drink.”

Spike's gaze had fallen on the same face. “Only if you're sharing the bottle.”

Xander raised a cautious hand. “Uh, what's a Frandrey? What's this letter we're talking about? And why are you two calling each other 'kaht-yahn?' What does that mean?”

“Um, literally? Chosen One. Well, 'yan' means 'one.' 'kat' roughly translates to 'choice.'”

“Ok, so I get _you_ being called that, but why _Spike_?”

“Uh... I don't think there's a direct translation for what it actually _means_.” She glanced at Spike. “We were declared one by the gods, and recognized by the Rasheen.”

“Called it,” Anya whispered.

“Rasheen?” Willow dared to ask.

“Our people. The government of, specifically.”

Spike answered Buffy's second nervous glance. “The word she's trying not to use is 'spouse.' Not exactly the same, but the closest translation I think we're gonna get.”

“You two are...?” Riley took another step backward, nearly bumping into Xander. “No way.”

Xander's hand went up again. “I'll second that denial. It'd take a lot longer than six months for the Buffster to totally crack up in a hell dimension.”

“Eight,” Faith murmured. “By eight months, they were getting serious.” She winced slightly at the looks of irritated confusion being thrown her way, but declined to elaborate with a shake of her head.

“Six months?” Spike asked her. “We knew it'd be a big gap, but didn't see much reason to keep tabs on it.”

“Yeah. I get that.” She waved around. “But at least you're back in time for the show. 'Cause damn near everyone in this room looks like they want to beat some answers out of me right now.”

“Everyone but Giles,” Buffy whispered, moving toward the man in question. “My mom told you, too?”

He nodded to Faith to indicate the intermediary source. “I-- I've done some crude calculations. You've been there for nine years?”

“And a couple of months.”

“Nine years?” Riley echoed. “That's impossible.”

“No,” Angel said quietly. “It's not.”

Spike frowned at him for a moment before giving a nod of understanding.

Meanwhile, Giles was enthralled with the sight of the slayer he thought he'd never see again standing before him. “You look well.” He reached out to rest a hand on her cheek. “Especially for the oldest slayer in recorded history.”

“Yeah, but she cheated. Twice. I'm going for the clean win. Oh, and Giles?” Faith waved around the room again. “Welcome to the death glare club.”

He tore his eyes from Buffy just long enough to see the looks in question. “Yes, well, I suppose we should all adjourn to a more comfortable environment to talk this through.”

“No need of that,” Spike replied. “Give Buffy an hour to see her mum, then you can send us back, and forget you ever did this to us.”

“Did thi--? Send you--?” Willow squinted her eyes closed and shook her head. “ _What?!_ ”

Buffy turned away from Giles to address Willow. “You're the one who brought us here, right? You can reverse it.”

“I mean, technically... But why would you want--?” She paused to reformulate her response. “Buffy, we've been working and researching for months to figure out how to bring you home. Angel even went to Europe to find a book that would help. And I finally pulled it off. We. Me and Tara. And you're healthy, and safe, and right where you belong. Whatever you've been through, we can work it out, ok?”

She took a step closer, looking worriedly over Buffy's shoulder to the watcher. “You don't have to stay demon-dimension married to Spike, or wear those demon-dimension clothes anymore. You can have your life back.”

“My old life, you mean. The one I've barely thought about in almost a decade.” Buffy took a deep breath, restraining her emotions. “Don't let them see you blink,” she whispered to herself.

Willow looked hurt. “Barely thought about?”

“I've been kind of busy, um... Willow.” She gestured to the insignia on the shoulders of her uniform jacket. “Obviously.” Her brow furrowed. “But Colonel Thurmond is probably in a panic by now.”

Anya gave this concern a casual shrug. “It's not like the Frandrey are new to magic. Just tell your colonel what happened, and brace yourself for a visit from the coven elders.”

All eyes turned toward her, and a few jaws fell loose.

“What? Just because _you_ people have never heard of the Rasheen doesn't mean _I_ haven't. I tried to tell you when they first disappeared, but no one would listen.” She waved to Buffy. “The Frandrey uniforms aren't how I remember them, though. They used to be red.”

“Yeah...” Buffy furrowed her brow as she studied the other woman. “They were.”

“Of course, the Frandrey also used to be humans-only,” Anya continued, ignoring the stares she was receiving. “If the guy Faith said went through the portal with you was Frandrey, they've definitely changed the rules.”

“About two human generations ago, give or take.” Buffy gently pushed Willow and Xander from her path as she moved toward Anya. She threw a questioning glance at Tara as she passed her, but her focus quickly reverted to the ex-demon. “The Frandrey became a branch of the Rasheen military when the New Salem Territory and the coven elders were integrated into the queen's government.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “It's about time! The Rasheen wasted centuries trying to run the country without the witches, insisting they didn't need them.”

“It was during one of the borders wars... After the Calanese navy nearly destroyed Port Harlan, the queen went up to New Salem to ask for help.” Buffy shook her head at the nod of understanding this explanation received. “I don't understand. How do you know the Rasheen?”

“Princess Grella's first Leikat? It didn't end pretty. And I did some work for a Jorosi girl, once. And there were some truly vengeful girls from Calan, who had to be talked down from wishing their Leikats to burst into flames.”

“ _Queen_ Grella, now,” Buffy corrected.

Anya winced. “And the country hasn't fallen apart? She must have changed over the years.”

“You haven't been there in fair bit, pet,” Spike added. “Grella's already outlived two Katyans.”

“Did she poison them?”

This was met with laughter from the new arrivals. “Our Grella was a bit of a hellraiser in her youth, eh?”

“Clearly, she's mellowed with age.” Buffy gestured toward the door. “Walk with us to my mom's house? I want to hear more about Her Majesty the Hellraiser.”

“Buffy, wait.”

Buffy nodded for Spike to go out ahead of her with Anya and turned toward Angel's voice, not noticing Xander slipping out behind his girlfriend. “Yes?”

Angel pointedly waited for the door to close before speaking, to make certain Spike would be unable to interrupt. “Tell me the truth... Do you _really_ want to go back to that place?”

She seemed confused by the question. “Uh yeah. Of course I want to go home.”

Riley cleared his throat to draw her attention from Angel. “Buffy, this _is_ home.”

“If it were,” Buffy answered as she opened the door, “we would have been back eight and a half years ago.”

 


	5. Disputed Territories

_**Chapter 5: Disputed Territories** _

_Earlier today_

_Bwarlac River Frandrey Base_

“I assure you, Admiral, the Frandrey will support this mission with all the resources available. ...Said resources are limited, of course,” the Frandrey's Liaison to the Royal Navy said in Rasheeni. She sighed and leaned back in her desk chair. “Yes, I am aware of your need. Are _you_ aware that Her Majesty also has an Army? The Frandrey infantry and marines need not be your only support. ...Yes, sir. ...You're welcome to do so, sir. Good day, sir.”

She slowly hung up the desk phone, stood up, and threw her chair at a wall.

Within seconds, her recently hired senior civilian aide was tapping on her office door as he opened it. “Are you well, Captain?” he asked in English.

“Yes, yes, Thomas. I'm fine.”

He ignored her attempt to wave him off and crossed the room to retrieve the chair. “Admiral Creflay again?”

“He's apparently had enough of my 'off-world sarcasm,' and is going to call Colonel Thurmond about it.”

Thomas laughed. “He's only angry because you won't hand over control of half the Frandrey to the fleet. He expects you to be foolish enough to agree to it, and for your superiors to feel obliged to follow through on your word.”

“I've been commanding troops since I was sixteen years old, in some form or another. I'm not half as stupid as that chea'pah thinks I am.”

“I know.” He pushed the chair back to her. “Creflay is among those who... How should I say this? There are still some people who have _opinions_ about off-worlders in the military. There's not much respect for you to draw from with him, because he doesn't think you should be allowed to wear that uniform.”

“I'm probably as assimilated as I'm going to get, Thomas.”

“I suppose that's true, sir. But it doesn't change where you came from.”

She flopped into the desk chair. “I fought in the last border war with the Frandrey, I graduated the Academy, I'm so fluent in Rasheeni at this point, he'd probably never know I didn't grow up speaking it if...”

“If you weren't on the edge of famous. A vampire given a royal waiver to enter The Temple of Rasha and Vereen with a fellow off-worlder was no small bit of news. There aren't many in this entire country who don't recall the headlines.”

Buffy tilted her head toward the ceiling. “That man is _always_ going to be getting me into trouble, isn't he?”

“You endured a twelve day trial, the most difficult one the priests could create. It's an achievement.”

“It's an ancient stone hellscape, and was totally _his_ idea, for the record. I never had any intention of making headlines, or being well-known. But Spike... He's good at making complicated situations worse. I guess I've always kind of known that. The first time he tried to kill me, he was two days early, and turned an already bad night into a full-fledged horror movie.”

“Tried to kill you?”

She shrugged off the question. “And the first time we ever fought on the same side, I was on the run from the police. Spike knocked out the officer who was about to try to arrest me, and asked for a truce between us, just for one night. We'd known each other for the better part of a year by then, and had spent a big chunk of it trying to kill each other. So naturally, his idea of 'helping' me began with him beating up a cop who didn't get a good look at _him,_ but definitely saw _me._ We _both_ left town until things cooled off after that, albeit for different reasons.”

Thomas stumbled to one of the guest chairs in front of the desk, making a poor attempt to hide his shock. “ _You_ were wanted by the police?”

“Not the first time. Or the last. My old life... The women who have my abilities have to live in the shadows in Terra'bo. Whenever our secret lives intersect with the rest of society, trouble follows.”

“Like the witches who founded New Salem.”

“Yeah. Kind of exactly.”

He studied her for a minute. “So you're less of an off-worlder than some people believe.”

“Some people judge me mostly by the species of my Katyan.” Buffy shrugged and sat upright in her chair. “But on the upside, some people judge my Katyan mostly by _my_ rank and position.”

“So there was some benefit to the headlines?”

She narrowed her eyes on him. “If you ever tell Spike I said anything like that, get ready to meet your ancestors. I'm going to win that argument if it takes the rest of my life.”

Thomas' burst of laughter filled the office. “So your relationship is as contentious now as it was when you met?”

“In some ways, yeah, I guess. We'll always be us, no matter where we go.”

Something in her downshifting tone brought a look of concern to her aide's face. “What's bothering you, Captain?”

She quirked her mouth to the side. “Don't you have work to do?”

He nodded to the wall clock. “It's quitting time, sir.”

She frowned at the clock for a moment, wondering where the afternoon had gone. “Ok, so I told you Spike hasn't been getting much work lately, right?”

“Yes. Has that changed?”

“He got an offer from a friend of Persheth's. They need someone to lead a private security team. Six month contract.”

“That's fine news!”

“Persh sent the job Spike's way because it's in a colder climate. Human team.”

Thomas' brow furrowed. “Too cold for Rasheeni means it's not close to here.”

“Oh, it gets _a lot_ better than 'not close.' The job is to protect a group of scientific researchers in the Sa'yane Mountains. ..In the disputed territory.”

“Oh, Rasha... He's not considering accepting?”

Buffy scoffed. “He's not considering _not_ accepting.”

“But with your salary, surely there isn't a need...”

“It's not about the money. It's about Spike being completely incapable of making the safe choice when given multiple options. If it sounds dangerous, he's in. Because he's an idiot.”

“And he'll be gone for six months. Even if they have no significant trouble from the Calanese...”

“Exactly.”

Thomas gave her a sympathetic look. “So what are you going to do, Captain?”

“Well, short of holding a stake to his chest until he changes his mind, there's nothing I really _can_ do. He's bored. He's restless. And he's put up with being dragged all over the country for the sake of _my_ career pretty much since we got here.” Buffy bit her lip. “It's only fair that I don't put up much of a fight over this, right?”

“I suppose so. ...But what of that phone call you're waiting for?”

She shook her head. “Honestly? I suspect that's part of why he wants to go. He doesn't want to be here to hear the next 'no,' 'cause this one will hurt more.” Her eyes wandered to the photos on her desk. “Maybe I ought to go with him.”

“It could be a 'yes,' you know.”

“I doubt it. We have a pretty straightforward track record on this. ...As I'm sure _you_ know. Jenny must have given you all the horrible details by now, or you'd be asking more questions.”

Thomas smiled sheepishly at having been caught out. “The glowing reviews you received weigh more with my opinions than office gossip, Captain. I'm sure that's true for all parties involved.”

“Except that the gossip is true.” Buffy dragged her gaze away from the photos. “The odds are against it, and Spike knows it as well as I do.”

“Unfavorable odds are hardly a guarantee of failure. Just ask the soldiers of the 4th Scouts who made it out of the Hedgren River valley at the end of the war.” He gave her a pointed stare.

She couldn't help but chuckle. “Thomas, I like you better when aren't right about everything.”

The stare shifted into a cheeky grin as he rose to his feet. “That's why you brought me onto your staff, isn't it? Because I know enough to usually be right?”

“I hired you because you know the Navy, not because you know how to acquire toddlers.”

He went to the coat rack in the corner to retrieve her jacket, cap, and sword belt, and brought them to the desk. “Get home to your Katyan, Captain. Fight it out.”

“I guess I can take a hint.” She rose to accept the belt, tugging at it when her dirk didn't sit just where it should, then giving up and tightening the belt with an irritated sigh.

“Also, you skip too many lunches.” Thomas handed her the jacket.

“We'll talk about the lunches later. As for fighting it out, I told you I don't think I should.”

“Not for _you_ , sir. For the possibility of a 'yes.' If anything will make him reconsider...”

Buffy looked up from buttoning her jacket. “Ok, I like you again. You play dirty.”

He pursed his lips, irritated with her flippancy on the matter. “All I'm saying is that it's a point worth bringing up. _Conversationally_ , Captain. Not as a weapon.”

“I was only joking,” she grumbled as she reached for her cap.

Flashing security lights and blaring sirens interrupted the conversation. An automated message came over the PA system, and began to play in a loop between short bursts of siren wails. _“Unauthorized magical intrusion detected. Secure all workstations and evacuate the building. This is not a drill.”_

Thomas tried to shove the cap into Buffy's hand so he could dart out to his desk, but her hand wouldn't close around it. “Captain?”

“I-- I can't move.” Her eyes widened. “It's me, Thomas. Someone's after _me._ Lock down my computer! Now! And kill my phone!”

He ran around the desk to get behind her and shut down her computer. “Where's your phone?!”

“Right hip pocket.”

“This is highly inappropriate,” he murmured as he reached into her pants pocket to retrieve the phone. He turned it off, popped open the case and back cover, yanked out the battery and dropped all the pieces onto the desk. He was running for the office door by the time they'd landed. “I'll be back as soon as I get my computer shut down.”

Her voice stopped him at the doorway. “No. Secure your station and get out of here.”

“Captain...”

“Thomas, _go_. It's a magical attack. There's no telling what form it could take. It could be a simple data mining spell, or this whole place could burst into flames. Get out.”

He stared at her, locked in position, standing by the corner of her desk, trying hard not to look worried. “Yes, sir,” he whispered.

“ _Unauthorized magical intrusion detected. Secure all workstations and evacuate the building. This is not a drill.”_

In the outer office, junior civilian aide Jennifer Crowfoot was struggling to save the files she'd had open. “Come on, come on, come on,” she pleaded with her computer. “Faster would be better. ...Finally!” She initiated the shutdown and gathered her personal belongings while she waited to see it complete.

That was when Thomas emerged from the liaison's office. Alone.

She tracked his path to his desk with frightened eyes. “Where's the captain?”

“She can't move,” Thomas replied as he shutdown his computer. “It looks like she's the target. Sean?”

“He went home before the alarm sounded. Buffy...” Jennifer's turn toward the liaison's office was halted by a stern shout.

“Jenny, no!”

“We're not going to leave her alone in there!”

His workstation secure, Thomas moved to stand in Jennifer's path. “We're not. I'm going back in. You're to get outside and make a phone call.” He shook his head at the worried frown Jennifer had aimed at the liaison's office. “You've a Katyan and a baby at home, Jenny. I don't. This isn't a debate.”

After another moment's pause, she nodded her assent. “Gods be with you both.”

Thomas waited until he'd seen her cross the hall and enter the stairwell before he walked back into Buffy's office, closing the door behind him.

“ _Unauthorized magical intrusion detected. Secure all workstations and evacuate the building. This is not a drill.”_

She understood immediately what the sound of her door clicking shut meant. “I could have you removed from your post and dragged off the base in disgrace for less than this.”

“But you won't.”

“No, I won't. Jenny and Sean?”

“Gone.”

“Good. ...So, since it's just you and me, can I say that I'm kinda panicking right now?”

Thomas moved toward her. “I didn't think you knew _how_ to panic.”

A whisper of a laugh escaped her lips. “I guess I fooled _you_. Yes. I panic. I panic like a pro. But I usually have a cure for it. Usually, I can hit something until it goes away.”

“The panic or the something?”

“Yes.” She watched one of her guest chairs slide into her line of sight.

Thomas sat down before her. “So what shall we talk about while we wait to burst into flames, Captain?”

“I'm pretty sure we're past keeping to the formalities, Thomas. Pretend we're off base.”

“Fair enough. We're off base, _Buffy_. You're out of that uniform. All our security badges are locked in the cars, and we're having pints of Millhouse Sweet Cider at the bar down the road from Jenny's apartment. There's a local band playing terrible renditions of Jorosi dance music. Your Katyan was supposed to meet us, but he's been delayed by traffic, and hasn't yet arrived. Sean is at the bar, ostensibly ordering a second round for the table, but actually flirting with the barman. Jenny and her Katyan are boring my dear Leikat to a death wish with their baby photos. You and I are conspiring to talk everyone into supping at the Patrick Street Grill, using their fresh breads as bait.”

She smiled softly. “You're describing last Friday.”

“That's the only off base experience I've had with you.” He shifted in his chair. “Whatever is about to happen, Buffy, please know that I wish I'd known you sooner.”

She squinted at him, suddenly understanding something she'd missed in the three months he'd been in her office. “You applied for the senior aide post because of _me_. I thought you were overqualified, but... Why?”

“Honestly?”

“Thomas, there's a good chance I could be dead any minute. And I might take you with me. So yeah, this might be a good time for honesty.”

“More off-world sarcasm?”

“I play to my strengths.”

“You know I came from the offices of Naval Administration. What I left vague on the paperwork was who I served: Admiral Vreshon.”

“Creflay's predecessor. _That's_ why you were job hunting. You knew Vreshon's retirement was coming.” Buffy took a minute to analyze the situation. “So either you're a plant, here to undermine me on behalf of the Navy, and I was dumb enough to hire you, or--”

“I was plagued by curiosity. A pair of off-worlders who arrived by accident fought alongside a Frandrey unit that had as much misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time as they had, and came out unscathed. The young woman of the pair rose up the ranks of the Frandrey to become the bane of the Admiralty in inter-branch operations, confounding their every move toward bringing about the dissolution of the Frandrey forces. She also took her fellow off-worlder as Katyan, in a series of events that brought news channel fame to a group of _priests_ , as well as to a pair of palace guards. But she never gave a single interview herself. Neither did her Katyan, nor anyone who knew her well. When I learned your team had a senior staff opening, Vreshon had just announced his retirement. It was an opportunity I couldn't ignore.”

“I guess anything's better than staying on to work for Creflay.”

He chuckled. “Agreed. I still have a few hairs that haven't gone grey. I'd like to keep them.”

“Sitting through a magical attack with me is probably not the best way to do that, you know.”

“It could be worse.”

His eyes wandered across her desk. The darkened screen of her laptop, the pieces of her phone, paper files in two haphazard stacks, two empty coffee cups, and the entire back right corner crowded with photos in slim black frames. Buffy with Spike in front of the entrance to The Temple of Rasha and Vereen. Spike with Aaron in front of a sunny window framed by mint green curtains. Buffy with each iteration of her liaison team over the years. Spike with a group of Rasheeni men lined up against a black armored truck, toasting the camera with bottles of beer. The largest of those Rasheeni men with Spike in a kitchen, the pair captured in mid-laugh. Buffy and Spike posed between Retired Colonel Samuels and a woman near Samuels' age who wore the talisman of the coven elders hanging from a chain around her neck.

“I don't know what I expected,” Thomas murmured. “But it wasn't you.”

“So you've found out my secret: I'm boring.”

“Not in the least. You're quite remarkable. And I understand better now why the Admiralty calls you the 'grosha plu chea'pah.'”

“'Stubborn little piece of shit?' Really? That's the best they can come up with?”

“You should feel complimented. You've earned having a foul title from them, in all the best ways.”

“I'm insulted they didn't come up with anything _clever._ ” Buffy rolled her eyes. “The best they can do is throw in a jab at my _height_? New plan: I talk Spike into ditching the Sa'yane Mountains job to go to Naval Administration and teach those morons some better lines.”

When his chuckles faded, Thomas shifted in his seat again. “I've been wanting to say all of this since I met you.”

“Well, I guess a captive audience helps.”

“In a way.” He watched her expression cloud over again. The distractions weren't working as well as he'd hoped. “Let's go back to last Friday night. Our waitress at the Patrick Street Grill--”

“ _Unauthorized magical intrusion detected. Secure all workstations and evacuate the building. This is not a drill.”_

“Face it, Thomas, it isn't working. We can't go back in time. And I'm not only locked into this uniform, I'm locked in this _position_.” She closed her eyes tightly in frustration. “I just need to be able to _do_ something. Are the witches at least _working_ on it?”

Thomas went over to the window and looked out at the crowd gathered in the parking lot in front of the building. “I don't see them. But Sean is back. He's arguing with security, apparently trying to get in. Wait... Jenny is pulling him away.”

“Good girl,” Buffy whispered. “If she doesn't keep on him, he's going get in here, even if it earns him a court martial. ...Idiot. It's no wonder he and Spike get along so well.”

“It's Sean's duty to feel responsible for you.” Thomas' tone carried a hint of reproach. “He's doing his job.”

“He's being stupid. I already have one of the three of you in here, waiting to die with me. That's more than enough.”

“We aren't going to die.”

“I didn't see 'prophet' listed on your resume, Thomas.”

“Off-world sarcasm,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his silver streaked hair. “Defensive.” He returned to stand in front of her.

She still had her eyes closed, and wore an expression of resignation.

“Opposite approach, then.” He raised his voice to a normal speaking volume. “Forget last Friday. Eyes open, Captain. Admiral Vreshon always said there was only one rule for both combat and conference rooms: Don't let them see you blink.”

“Don't let them see you blink,” she whispered to herself. “Don't let them see you blink.”

“Whatever is about to happen, you'll come to it eyes open, on your toes, and like all you old veterans who've gone behind desks do: as if it's another battle to win.” He smirked, knowing he was nearing her tipping point by the tightening of her jaw. “Face it like the person doing this is _Admiral Creflay._ ”

Steely green eyes locked onto his. “Ok. I'm ready.”

“For?”

“Whatever is going to happen next.”

“That was easier than I expected it to be.”

“It helps that my best back-up has just arrived.”

*~*~*

Spike picked up his buzzing phone from where he'd left it on top of the coffeemaker and frowned at the name on the screen before answering the call. “If you're ringing me up to say she'll be late coming home, tell her I've nearly finished the sauce for her beloved Marlegian pasta. That'll change her plans.”

Jennifer's voice was frantic. “You have to come to the base. Something is very, very wrong. Thomas made me leave. He's staying with her, but we don't know what's happening, or what's coming, or--”

“Jenny, breathe!” He nearly shouted into the phone. He waited a moment for her to calm herself. “Right. Now tell me what's going on.”

Twenty seconds later, Spike had turned off the stove and taken off running out the front door of the apartment, grabbing his jacket and car keys on the way.

He was stopped at the guard station at the base's south gate. “No one goes in,” a young man in Frandrey grey said as he approached the open driver's side window. “Unless you have a badge from the coven, that is. Possible magical attack in progress.”

“I know.” Spike offered his ID card.

The young man's eyes widened as he read the card. He handed it back and waved for his partner to open the gate. As the car sped through the opening, he reached for his radio. “This is the south gate. There's a visitor on his way to Administration Building Three. Let him pass. ...He's Katyan to Captain Summers.”

*~*~*

“It helps that my best back-up has just arrived.”

Thomas glanced toward the door, confused. “What?”

“One of my abilities,” Buffy explained. “I can tell when a vampire is close by. Ones I know well, I can identify.”

“I didn't know you could do that.”

“You wouldn't. Rasheen isn't exactly overwhelmed with his kind, and it's _not_ one of my strengths. Compared to others like me, my senses are grossly inadequate.”

“You seem calmer, though.” He nodded approvingly. “Ready to take down an Admiral or two over a conference table.”

“Or slice whoever is doing this into ribbons. The blade at my hip may technically be ceremonial, but it's not made of foil. ...You called him?”

“I asked Jenny to do it when she got outside. We both knew you'd want him here, and that was the easiest way to convince her to leave.”

Buffy studied him for a moment. “You're a true son of Vereen, Thomas, even if you _did_ take this job just to check out the off-worlder freak. Thank you.”

“I've done nothing beyond the descriptions of my post, Captain.”

“You have. Now let me me be grateful,” she snapped.

He grinned. “Yes, sir. You're welcome, sir.”

“That's better.”

*~*~*

Spike's car slammed to a stop just beyond the crowd of people gathered in the parking lot in front of Administration Building Three. He jumped out and made a beeline for the door to the emergency stairwell at the side.

Sean broke from the half-restraining, half-comforting hug Jenny had been keeping him in to move in the same direction. He was right behind Spike when the security officer intercepted.

“Sorry, sir. No one goes in. The gate shouldn't have waved you through.” The words were barely out of his mouth before a single punch to his temple sent him to the ground, unconscious.

“Don't call me 'sir.'” Spike wrenched open the door and ran up the stairs, not even acknowledging that Sean was on his heels.

“Captain?” Sean called out ahead of them as they made their way to the liaison's outer office. “Thomas?”

“In here!” Thomas called back, hoping to be loud enough to be heard over the sirens. He shook his head at the woman before him. “Your powers apparently don't extend to loyal corporals.”

“What matters is that he isn't alone,” Buffy said with a smirk. “Three... two...”

The office door swung open. “Katyan?”

“One. Hi, Spike. Seen any good statues lately?”

Spike came into Buffy's line of sight, followed closely by Sean. “Just one. A hot little number who's apparently willing to do anything to keep me from taking that Sa'yane job.”

“Because I _clearly_ planned this as a means of winning an argument. You're an idiot.”

Thomas took a step back and to the side, pulling his chair along with him, so neither would be between Spike and Buffy. “I should find out if the witches have made any progress in blocking the attack.”

“They haven't,” Sean answered. “They were all off base when it started, and arrived just ahead of Spike. They'll put a stop to it soon.”

Spike came to stand where Thomas had been, and reached out to cup a hand against Buffy's cheek. “You hear that? A few more minutes, Katyan, and we'll be on our way home.”

As soon as he touched her, he became as immobilized as she was. Before either of them could react, a bright purple light flashed, and a portal began to open in place of Buffy's desk.

“Oh, Rasha!” Thomas stared wide-eyed at the candle lit room on the other side, and the people watching them from within it.

Sean rushed forward to pull Buffy and Spike away from the portal, but he was too late.

He fell to the floor, landing between Buffy's desk and her forgotten cap.

The portal had snapped closed. The liaison and her Katyan were gone.

“Human faces,” Thomas murmured as he helped Sean to his feet. “Terra'bo.”

 


	6. Power Displacement

 

_**Chapter 6: Power Displacement** _

_Today_

_Sunnydale_

Spike took a few steps backward on the driveway, getting far enough away from the mansion to get a good look at it. “Never thought I'd see this place again,” he murmured. “It's still ugly.”

“It used to be home,” Xander reminded him.

“Not really. Just a place I was trapped for a while.”

“Where's home now?” Anya asked as she looked up to study the building with him. “Oh, yeah. It's ugly from this angle.”

“Bwarlac City, for the moment. Buffy's stationed at the river mouth base.” He shrugged. “Who knows where we'll be next year. Right now, though, we got ourselves a flat just about halfway between downtown and the base, with a good view of the river. Haven't been so lucky at every posting. Our place at Nor'challa Beach wasn't near much of anything.”

“Like it mattered,” Buffy said, joining them on the driveway. “You were never there, anyway.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “The Leikats apparently think I'm under duress or something. They wanted to ask me if I wanted to go back without you around.”

Spike's study of the mansion ended with a glare. “Berks. The witch say anything else?”

She shook her head. “I'm counting on Giles to talk some sense into her. He was always good at that.”

“You guys may not be remembering Willow quite right,” Anya said. “She's not all that receptive to ideas that aren't hers. It might take more than Giles being sensible to get her to send you back to Rasheen.”

“Yeah, Buff. She's probably going to need more, especially with you being all military and marr...” Xander waved vaguely toward Spike. “I can't even say it. ...This just isn't what we were expecting. Most of us, anyway. I've _got_ to get the story there. Faith knew enough to try to stop the spell, but I don't get how. Meantime, you're here, but you look different, you act different, and you're using these foreign words, like 'lay-kaht.' You said we have them in there, but your queen had them, too? Also, you have a freakin' _queen?_ ”

“No, _I_ have Leikats in there,” Buffy corrected. “Angel and Riley.”

“Riley!” Spike exclaimed. “ _That's_ his name! All I could remember about the bloke is wanting him dead.”

Anya barely withheld a laugh at the look Buffy gave her Katyan as the four of them started down the driveway. “To be fair, Buffy, it's been a long time.”

“Angel and Riley? So it means boyfriend?” Xander frowned in Spike's direction. “Or ex-boyfriend?”

“Both, actually. And girlfriend. 'Leital' is a verb. It means 'to wish,'” Anya explained. “I kinda had to know that one. For work. A 'leikat' is someone that you wish to be your chosen one, someone that you would consider taking the trials for. There isn't a different word for after one of you changes your mind. Once you're Leikat to somebody, you always are.”

“What trials?”

“It's a ritual. You know, like a wedding?” Anya waved vaguely toward their companions. “Only with more violence, especially for Rasheeni. Humans generally get an easy version. I'm guessing they didn't give a slayer and a vampire a light trial?”

“Trapped in that bloody temple for twelve days.” Spike's grumbling tone ran counter to the proud smirk he wore. “Worth it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Buffy said distractedly as she surveyed the street before her. She patted her right side. “That stab wound _scarred._ ”

“It's faint,” Spike assured Xander and Anya. “Barely visible.” He studied the street with Buffy for a moment. “Left, I think. And it wasn't the temple demons that made it scar.”

“Close enough.” She nodded to the left, agreeing with his assessment, and they turned in that direction

Xander scrambled after them. “You don't remember your way around Sunnydale?”

Anya walked calmly behind him, catching up at a more dignified pace. “They haven't been here in almost a decade, Xander. I'm surprised they still remember our names.”

Buffy and Spike exchanged glances, silently daring each other to admit they'd been waiting on the young man's name to be spoken to confirm his identity.

*~*~*

_Six months ago_

_Sunnydale_

“Xander,” Anya whispered, tapping on his sleeve just above the elbow. “The patch Faith saw on that demon's uniform... The design sounds familiar.”

“It doesn't matter what it was wearing. Buffy will kill it.” He returned his focus to the conversation at hand. “So once we figure out where that portal went, we open one of our own. Then what?”

“It's not that simple, Xander.” Willow dropped into Giles' desk chair. “I don't have the power or know-how to open an inter dimensional portal. I know someone... a-- a friend who might be able to help, but portals are big time magic. They aren't easy. And I don't even know where to begin on tracking a closed one.”

“I can reach out to our scientists,” Riley offered. “I'm sure they've studied the energy signatures of these things. They might be able to steer us in the right direction.”

Giles struggled to keep his skeptical expression from escalating to laughter. “Yes, I'm sure the Initiative has had ample opportunity to give extensive study to a magical phenomenon that even I have only encountered a handful of times in nearly thirty years, and most of those events secondhand.”

“The truth is, Buffy is the closest thing we have to a dimensional portal expert,” Willow said quietly. “She saw the one that took Angel to a hell dimension, and then she made a quick visit through another one while she was in L.A. Although, from the way she described it, I'm not sure the second one was the same kind of portal.”

“But the first one definitely was. And the guy came back through it. We _have_ another expert, a phone call away.”

Giles held up a hand to intercept Xander's move toward the phone. “We'll research it on our own first. I see no benefit to calling him before we are certain it's necessary.”

“It's necessary,” Riley interjected. “Besides, I kinda want to meet the guy who broke Buffy's heart.”

“Oh, he did a lot more than that,” Xander said. He gave the phone one last look, glanced at Riley, and turned back toward the arm of the couch he'd been perched on. “Yeah, I can see the upside to waiting on that one.”

“There's no upside to waiting on _any_ resource if Buffy's life is in danger,” Riley argued. “I get that you all have mixed feelings about this Angel guy. I do, too, and I've never even laid eyes on him. But--”

“But it doesn't matter,” Faith murmured from across the room, where she'd been quietly sitting on the fireplace hearth, studying her hands. “She's probably already dead.”

All eyes turned toward her.

She looked up to meet them, shaking her head to stop them from arguing with her statement. “You guys didn't see it, didn't hear it. Machine guns and explosions. A witch who looked like she'd had her skull cracked open, a big, tough looking demon who could barely stand, and the third one -a guy called Michael- who didn't even live long enough for us to meet him. The witch said they were in a war, and the place they were going was _slightly_ further from the front lines.”

“Yeah, but it's Buffy. She can sur--”

Faith cut off Xander's argument by addressing Giles as she rose to her feet. “That's not all I saw, and I think you know it.”

“The slayer dream,” the watcher said quietly. “She told me much of it. Your account of events bears a striking resemblance to what Buffy described.”

“Except for the part where I didn't jump in front of her. I was a step behind her.”

“But she still pushed you to safety...”

“Because the rest of the dream told her why she should, even if I didn't get in front of her. ...Like I was supposed to.”

Before anyone could think of a response, Faith had brushed by all of them and slammed Giles' front door behind her.

*~*~*

_Today_

_Sunnydale_

As soon as the mansion's front door closed behind Buffy, Willow, Riley, and Angel turned their attention on Faith.

She held up her hands in surrender. “It was Joyce's call, guys. It didn't look like anyone was going to be able to do--” She dropped her hands to wave them around the area where the portal had been. “-- _this_ , so she told us to keep it quiet until October, when the letter Buffy sent through to her would match the time that had passed here. She figured you guys finding out how big the time difference was would get your motors running on a rescue all over again, and she didn't want to encourage it.”

“I believe she also wanted to have ample time to grieve in peace,” Giles added.

“Grieve? That sounds like it was a letter full of bad news. If it told her Buffy was ok, why would she need time to--?”

Willow's question was cut off by Tara's hand on her arm. “She still lost her daughter, sweetie. Even if... If it was...” Tara looked to Faith. “By choice?”

“Had to have been,” Angel murmured, finally moving from the garden doorway to the center of the room with the rest of them. “A letter, any object that was sent here, would have come through a portal, just like a person. If Buffy could send a letter to her mom, she could have come home in its place.”

“None of this is exactly assuring me she hasn't been brainwashed.” Riley crossed his arms over his chest. “Probably by Hostile 17, himself, considering the results. All this letter talk tells me is that it took less than eight months in that hell dimension for it to happen.”

“I know a couple of spells we might be able to use to correct it,” Willow offered. “But we can take our time getting the ingredients. It will be a couple of days before I can do them. That Seeker left me pretty wiped.”

“She might just need some recovery time,” Angel said quietly, looking around the candlelit room. “I did. No magic, just... patience.”

“Or --and this might just be a wild idea-- we could actually respect B's wishes and send her and her vamp back where they came from.”

Willow took a step closer to Faith challenging her. “Do you really think, after you've spent six months _lying_ to us -telling us you were sure she was dead when you _knew_ she wasn't- that we're going to take _any_ advice from you?” She shook her head. “I can't believe I fell for it. I thought you'd finally changed.”

Giles stepped close beside the slayer, presenting a united front. “Willow...”

“Maybe I haven't,” Faith argued. “But B sure as hell has. I know you don't want to face it.” She looked to Riley and Angel. “And you two _definitely_ don't, but the Buffy you knew _is_ dead. She fell into that portal in the graveyard, and she's never coming back.”

“I don't believe that.” Willow nodded to Riley and Angel. “And neither do they. Whatever's happened to her, it can be undone. I get that you liked the power of being the only slayer around, but you're going to have to get over it or get out of Sunnydale. Because the 'Faith is Queen of the Hellmouth' show is _cancelled._ ”

Tara threw a nervous glance at Giles before gathering her courage to speak. “C-C-Can I say something, as a n-neutral person? Since I don't know Buffy?”

“Please do.” Giles gestured to her encouragingly.

“She... She seems ok. Healthy a-a-and probably happy? Like she has a good life?”

“Like maybe it wasn't a hell dimension.” Faith kept her eyes locked on Willow's. “Like I said.”

Riley scoffed. “She thinks she's married to a vampire! Of course it's a hell dimension! And she's _clearly_ under the influence of something that's making her _think_ she's happy about it.”

Angel looked at Riley for a long, tense, moment, struggling to find words to supplement his instinctive urge for violence. Finally, he pointed toward the door. “Get the hell out, before you find yourself needing to borrow Spike's wheelchair.”

Riley stood his ground, though his eyes were drifting toward the slayer, hoping for a promise of backup.

She shook her head. “I'm pretty sure Ange has squatter's rights in this hellhole. Call it a night, man. Seriously. The soul doesn't keep him from getting pissed off and killing people. It just makes him feel guilty enough about it that he doesn't usually want to follow through.”

“I'm not sure I'd feel all that guilty, in this case.”

Riley didn't move.

Angel shifted into his demon face as a final warning.

Seeing no one coming to his defense, Riley finally turned back toward the door. “Fine. I'll get out, so I don't hurt her _ex-_ boyfriend's delicate feelings.”

“Welcome to the club!” Angel called after him. When the door closed, he shifted back into his human guise. “Idiot.”

Faith couldn't resist the urge to give Angel a high five. “Alright, now that Foot In Mouth Disease is out, how about we talk this out like regular people?”

Willow did not share in the feeling of eased tension. “How about we start with you telling me what makes you the grand arbiter of what the rest of us get to know?” She held up a hand against Giles' attempt to object. “I get that Mrs. Summers believed the letter, and wanted to be left alone about it, but you've spent the last six months acting like we're all in this together, trying to make it work, like a _team_ , while you've been playing along with her, believing it too, and _not telling us,_ because it's _convenient_ for you to believe it. We needed to know what you knew, Faith. If you knew where she was, we wouldn't have had to spend _months_ looking for a spell that could track her down, and--”

“Them,” Tara interrupted. “Track _them_ down.”

Willow turned to look at her, surprised at the strength of Tara's tone.

Tara held up her hands to shoulder height in a gesture that was half surrender and half defensive. “Neutral person, right?” She slowly lowered her hands. “I-I just mean... Buffy didn't go into that portal alone, and she didn't come out alone. A-and the way you've all always described Spike doesn't sound m-m-much like the guy who came back. Shouldn't we be worried about him, too?”

Angel gave her a nod of approval. “Thank you. I'm glad someone finally said it.”

“I'll admit he looks very unlike himself,” Giles allowed.

“He talked about that dimension's queen like he _knows_ her.” Angel shook his head. “Hell dimension or not, if _Spike_ has personally met a queen, and wasn't beheaded immediately after, something's weird there.”


	7. Queen's Consent

 

_**Chapter 7: Queen's Consent** _

_Five years, five months ago_

_Pendle Harbor, New Salem Territory_

“Leikat, I'm home!” Buffy unbuttoned her dark grey uniform jacket as she walked through the apartment. “Spike? Where are you?” She reached out her senses, but Spike wasn't nearby. She pulled her mobile phone from her pocket when she reached the walk-in closet, and called him while she changed clothes.

The call went to voicemail. “Where the hell did you sneak off to, Leikat? I thought we had a date tonight. Marlegian pasta and dancing? Last hurrah in the city before we have to pack up and move again? Is any of this ringing any bells? You know what? Forget it. Because you clearly already have.”

Frustrated, she ended the call and threw the phone onto the bed. It was followed by the strappy red heels she'd planned to wear that night, one after the other.

She was on her second drink -and deep in a dark, dangerous mood- when the buzzing of the phone brought her back into the bedroom. She answered the call none too gently. “What do you want?”

“Well, I was hoping to take you out for pasta and dancing.”

“I've had Jorosi whiskey for an appetizer, and I have weapons. Swing by anytime.”

“Leikat, there's a good reason I'm late.”

“Does it come with a good reason for you not to have answered your phone?” she snapped. “Because I'd love to hear it. This is the _third_ time in just over a week that you've been gone when I get home. No note, no answering calls, no explanations when you get home. Nothing. So I guess my real question is, who is she?”

“Buffy...”

“Don't 'Buffy' me, William. Who is she?”

There was a brief silence. “Queen Grella.”

“Very funny.”

“I didn't think it would go that far. But I'm gumming up the works a fair bit more than they're used to, so it did. The coven elders got me an audience with her this afternoon.”

Buffy's glass of whiskey was slowly lowered to the nightstand. “Hang on. You're serious?”

“Yeah. Had to go all the way up to the old bat, herself. And had to use your position in the Frandrey to plead my case, besides. But I finally got it.”

She frowned at the phone. “Got what?”

“Permission for an off-world species to enter The Temple of Rasha and Vereen.”

Buffy was jarred out of her stunned silence by the sound of a key in the front door. She slowly made her way into the living room, still holding the nearly forgotten phone to her ear.

Spike came in wearing a smug smirk. He ended the call while he closed the door behind him. Then he tossed his phone onto the couch and took Buffy's from her unresistant hand to toss it in the same direction. “So are you going to put your money where your mouth is, Slayer?”

She finally shook out of her stupor. “You went to the coven elders. ...And _the queen_?”

“You said you wanted to make it official.”

“I-- I didn't think we actually _could._ ”

“Doesn't answer my question. Did you mean it?”

“You went to the freakin' _queen,_ Spike?”

“It's not like the coven elders sent me in alone.”

“Well, no, because they aren't stupid. You, on the other hand... You realize telling _her_ the Frandrey's liaison to the Royal Navy is shacking up with a vampire was probably a bad idea, right? Just because everyone else knows doesn't mean _she_ should. She could have had me removed. Or banished us both.”

He shrugged. “New Salem still has a little independence, no matter what they say at press conferences. They'd have taken us in.”

She glared. “ _Unemployed and disgraced from Frandrey service._ ”

He matched her intonations. _“Nothing to worry about. She signed the waiver.”_

“You're still an idiot.”

“And you're my chosen one,” Spike countered. “So are you going to put your life on the line for me, or aren't you?”

“You already know the answer to that.” Buffy sighed. “And apparently, so does the freakin' queen.”

“Not letting that go anytime soon, are you?”

“Probably not.”

“That's as close as I'm getting to a 'yes,' isn't it?”

“I'm sorry, did you ask me a question at some point? One you _don't_ already know the answer to?”

He smirked. “I just wanna hear it.”

She rolled her eyes, relenting. “Fine. Yes, I want you to be my Katyan. Are you happy now? Can we go get dinner?”

Spike reached for his phone. “Just let me ring up ol' Grella, see if she wants to make it three.”

“You have terrible taste in mistresses,” Buffy said through her laughter. “She's almost as old as _you_ are, and not half as evil.”

He slipped the phone into his pocket. “You're right. I could do better. Now that new aide of yours, what's her name again?”

“Jennifer. And no. We are _not_ going to joke about _her_.” Buffy turned and walked back to the bedroom to retrieve her shoes.

“Caught the girl's eye, did I?” he called after her.

“You know you did. She's crushing. _Hard._ And she sucks at hiding it.”

“Jealous?”

“Just help me figure out when I can take time off for the trials, ok? The sooner, the better.”

When Buffy emerged from the bedroom again, her make-up was refreshed, her red dress was paired with matching heels, and her whiskey glass was in her hand, empty. “She wouldn't be successful if she made a move in the meantime, right?”

“Don't be stupid, Slayer.” Spike, who had taken up a slouched position on the couch, didn't look up from her phone, through which he was studying her calendar. “You don't have anything important scheduled near your birthday.”

“Because there is _nothing_ of import I do in that uniform I'd feel safe in jinxing.” Catching onto the implication, she widened her eyes and shook her head rapidly. “No. No, no, no. We aren't going to jinx _us,_ either.”

He looked up, offering his most charming smile. “Come on, Leikat, take a chance with me.”

“The last time you said that, I ended up drunk at an embassy party. And the time before that--”

“There are worse things than a good rooftop shag.”

“In the _middle of the city. At rush hour._ We're lucky we didn't get arrested.”

The smile remained. “Unless you want to trust Jennifer around me until after the spring festivals...”

“Seriously? I'm that overbooked?” She took the phone from him to study the calendar for herself. “Damn. I forgot about the inspection tours for the carrier refits. The colonel wants my team to stay on for the shakedown cruises with our marine units. I'm going to be gone a lot after we move to Port Shelby.”

“So I see. Could've mentioned that sooner.”

“It's only for the first few months, and only off and on.”

“Taking Jennifer with you?”

“Is that a threat, Leikat? Because I _do_ still know how to whittle a stake.”

“Take a chance with me for your birthday, then. Nice gap of time there, while the Argentel is having its new toys installed. You'll be back well before inspection day, and your aides can cover you in the meantime.”

“My birthday in the middle of the trials.” She flopped down on the couch beside him. “You like living dangerously, don't you?”

“Have we met?”

“Alright. I'll request leave for between the Smood and the Argentel. But you know the colonel is going to ask why, and when I tell him...”

“He'll insist on hosting a feast for us, and likely invite everyone we've ever heard of. Remind him I like my human blood young and my bourbon old, if he can get his hands on some.”

“You wouldn't mind Pete making a fuss?”

Spike leaned over to kiss her forehead. “The old codger's the closest thing to family we got. Let him fuss.”

*~*~*

_Five months, three weeks ago  
Sunnydale_

The first thing Giles saw when he came downstairs on Sunday morning was a slayer sleeping on his couch. He checked the condition of the front door, to assure himself the lock had not been damaged when she'd broken in, and went on about his business.

He was in the kitchen, waiting for the coffeemaker to finish brewing, when the sound of the burbling machine woke his guest. She gave him a lazy wave on her way to the bathroom. “Hey.”

“Good morning. Should I take this to mean you told her?”

“Yep.”

The conversation resumed when Faith emerged from the bathroom and came to lean one shoulder against the kitchen doorway. She accepted a cup of coffee with a half smile. “Thanks.”

“I can make arrangements to move into a larger apartment.”

“No need. I--” She frowned at him, surprised at his willingness. “You'd do that?”

“Even if we get Buffy back tomorrow, you still need a watcher. And a home.”

Faith pivoted so she could lean her head back against the door frame. “Joyce didn't throw me out. I bailed. I just didn't think she'd want me there, you know?”

Giles leaned back against the sink and focused on his own coffee cup for a moment before speaking. “You can't keep running from every problem, Faith. I think you know that.”

“From that devastated look on her face? Hell yeah, I can run.”

He sighed. “I suppose that much is understandable. What did she say?”

Faith took a sip of her coffee. “Not much. Pretty sure she didn't totally believe me. I told her Riley saw it, too. Turns out she's never even met the guy.”

“Buffy _has_ been rather busy at the university of late.”

“Too busy to introduce the new boytoy to Mom, when she's living what? Five or six miles away?” Faith shook her head. “If I had a mom like that...”

He gave her a stern look over the rim of his coffee cup.

“I'm just sayin', she's wigged, man. All motherly and worried and hand-wringing and stuff...” She looked away. “You should expect a phone call today, by the way. She said she'd be calling you.”

“I'm sure she'd like to verify your story.”

“Yeah.” Faith turned her attention back to her coffee. “This is good stuff. Way better than that instant crap.”

“I look forward to your eloquent reviews on tea,” he murmured. “And some improvement in your ability to change the subject smoothly.”

“Touche.” She took another sip. “Ok, how about this for a change of subject: What was Anya so hot to get you alone to talk about?”

“Her firm belief that Buffy is alive and well.”

“She's not the only one who thinks so.”

“And her belief that Buffy's continued absence may be voluntary.”

Faith slowly turned to face the watcher. “ _What?!”_

“She isn't certain, but she has a suspicion about the dimension those visitors you told us about--”

“Polly and Dravon.”

“She suspects they're from a dimension with a sizable human population, and easy access to magic.”

“Judging from the fact that a half-conscious witch was able to open _two_ portals, yeah. I'll back her on the magic thing, at least.” Faith took a minute to sort through this information. “How sure is she?”

“Not certain enough to act on it, if there's even an action to take. She said your description of the demon and his uniform sounded much like a place she knew from her time as a vengeance demon, but that it wasn't quite right. Something about the wrong species and the wrong uniform color. What you saw didn't quite fit with her recollections, but she felt I should be told, as Xander refused to hear her out. She apparently made the mistake of opening with a suggestion we _not_ pursue a retrieval plan.”

“Yeah, that would turn his ears off in a big, fat hurry. But she came to you?”

“She said she knew I'd listen, and research her claims with an open mind. That isn't exactly how she phrased it, of course...”

Faith studied him for a moment, wondering what it was about him that inspired so much trust. “Was she right?”

“I intend to look into it, in as much as I can. Our knowledge of planes beyond our own is extremely limited. Most of what there is to be found in various texts describes only the demons who have come here from other dimensions, not the dimensions themselves. And although her claim of a human population in the suspected world seems to be backed by the presence of a human witch...”

“It could all easily be a coincidence. A species that kinda looks like the one she's thinking of, wearing kinda similar uniforms, with at least one human in the mix. Yeah...” Faith turned her attention to her coffee cup again, glad to have it as a distraction. “But what if she's right? What if B's living it up in some weird demon-human party town, away from that war zone?”

“You don't believe that.”

“No. I don't think she's living at all. But if she is--”

The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the front door. Faith stepped into the kitchen to clear the doorway for Giles, and topped off her coffee cup while he answered the knock.

“Hey, Giles. I know it's early, but I wanted to introduce you to Tara. She's the witch I was telling you about. She has some ideas on how we might be able to get Buffy back. Tara, this is Giles. Buffy's watcher.”

“H-Hi. It's nice to m-m-meet you.”

“Please, come in. Have a seat.”

“We have coffee,” Faith offered from the kitchen as the guests came into the living room.

Willow turned toward the open pass-through, visibly surprised at the sight of Giles' other guest. In a much less welcoming tone she said, “And this is Faith. The _other_ slayer.”

Faith grabbed two more coffee cups and shook her head, trying to rid herself of visions of throwing Willow into a wall. She distracted herself by studying the body language of the two witches while she filled their cups. By the time she had taken them to the coffee table, she had a strong suspicion as to the nature of their relationship. “You two like cream and sugar? Uh, Giles? Do you _have_ cream and sugar?”

Giles' answer was cut off by the ringing phone. He went to answer it, while gesturing to the sugar bowl in the kitchen. “Hello? ...I wouldn't worry about Mrs. Summers not answering her phone. She's just been told... I believe she'll need some time. ...Yes, Faith is here with me. Oh? Alright.” He ended the call and answered the questioning looks coming his way. “Xander. Apparently, there's a report on the television.”

Willow turned on the television and changed the channels until she found a news report in progress.

“...And barricaded themselves in the church with at least 20 parishioners. One of the few who escaped described the suspects as frighteningly disfigured, almost inhuman. So far, one escapee has since died of severe neck wounds. There is no report on the condition of the parishioners still trapped inside, but their assailants have vowed to kill all of them if police attempt to storm the church.”

By the time the reporter had finished her description of the situation, Faith had given up her attempt to play hostess to the new arrivals, and was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, putting on the boots she'd left under it the night before.

Giles moved toward the stairs. “Give me a moment to dress, and I'll come with you.”

“No need, Jeeves. I got this.”

“No, you don't,” Willow argued. “Not alone. We're not taking the chance you'll flip a coin while you're in there and decide to _help_ the vampires instead of _slay_ them.”

“I don't have any change.” Faith stood up as soon as her boots were laced. “I'm only gonna say this once, Willow. You don't have to like it, but you have to hear it: Sunnydale needs a slayer. Right now, you have exactly one to choose from. And she's not asking for your permission.”

*~*~*

The police officer's frown shifted from the front door of the church to the man standing next to him as he clipped his radio back to his belt. “He said I should defer command to you.”

“Then you hold your men until the reserves arrive. This is a military situation.”

The frown deepened. “What, they got bombs in there?”

Riley declined to answer directly with a subtle shake of his head. “Your men are not prepared to deal with them. Just trust me.”

As the officer stepped away to speak to his colleagues, a woman sidled up to Riley's other side. “Hey, Caveman. How's it looking in there?”

“Faith? What are you doing here?”

“What do you _think_?” She nodded toward the church, prompting him to answer her first question.

“It looks like three vamps and a lot of hostages.”

“I can do three.” She started to walk away, but was turned back to face him by his hand on her shoulder. “What?”

“I have troops mobilizing, Faith. They'll handle this.”

“It's not their job to handle it. Or yours.” She furrowed her brow. “What are _you_ doing here, anyway?”

Riley gave her a meek smile. “I was late for church.”

She cringed. “B went full Boy Scout this time, didn't she?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Look, when your people get here, you can send them in.” She gave him a cocky grin. “I might save one for them.”

“Maybe you shouldn't--”

She pulled away from him and walked backward a step, closer to the church. “Shouldn't what? Go have a little Sunday morning chat with God about the whole sacred calling thing? 'Cause I really think he owes me an explanation.”

She spun back around and took off before he could stop her. She made a point of slamming the church's door behind her, to draw the attention of the vampires.

“I told the cops, they send any one in, I start the whole massacre thing,” one of them threatened.

Faith grinned. “The cops didn't send me. And you aren't gonna be the one doing the massacring.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

She strolled casually up the aisle, letting her fingertips skim the wooden pews as she passed them, her eyes on the jagged edge of a broken one near the front. “Didn't anyone tell you about the cute little blonde who's been running this town for the last few years?”

“I've heard rumors, but I don't see anyone here who looks like her.” He looked over her shoulder toward the door. “You think she's gonna come to your rescue?”

“Nope.” Faith stopped walking, having reached the broken pew. “Step on up, boys.” She broke off a makeshift stake. “There's a new slayer in town.”


	8. Parting Ways

 

**_Chapter 8: Parting Ways_ **

_Nine years, two months ago_

_Somewhere in the Hedgren River valley_

Spike stumbled across the grass as the pulling sensation dropped away, nearly losing his grip on Dravon. As soon as he was securely upright, he looked back. Buffy was on the ground at his feet. A faint flickering light above the slayer was all that remained of the portal, a light that died while he watched, leaving them in a clearing lit only by unfamiliar stars and a pair of red-tinted moons.

“Bugger.”

Buffy rolled onto her side to look with him. “Oh, shit. Polly, can you--?” Her eyes widened when she looked to Dravon's left. “No!”

As they had been pulled through the portal, Dravon had lost his hold on Polly, and she was now crumpled into an unconscious heap on the grass beside him.

Buffy crawled over to her. “Wake up! Polly! _Wake up!_ ”

Dravon allowed Spike to shift his arm across the vampire's shoulders, to keep him more securely vertical. “It was too much for her,” he murmured. “Is she breathing?”

“Yeah, but she's not in good shape. I'm going to go out on a limb and say severe concussion. At least.” Buffy looked up at the demon's mottled orange face. “Your doctors... Do they know human physiology?”

“Most of our medics _are_ human.” Dravon barely noticed the shocked looks Buffy and Spike exchanged as he continued, nodding toward one end of the clearing they'd landed in. “Our camp is just beyond these trees.”

Buffy carefully picked up Polly's limp body, cradling the taller woman in her arms as she stood up. “Let's go.”

Dravon did a double take at the sight of the tiny stranger easily lifting his companion, but withheld comment as the four of them slowly made their way to the treeline.

When they emerged from the narrow stretch of forest that separated the clearing from the encampment, they were immediately noticed by two sentries dressed in what looked to Buffy like a grey version of police riot gear, who aimed automatic weapons in their direction.

“Identify yourselves.”

Dravon's deep, commanding voice gave them pause. “Stand down, Charlie.”

The sentries drew closer at the sound of a familiar voice, meeting the new arrivals at the edge of the shadows cast by the treeline as they lowered their weapons. The smaller of the two, presumably Charlie, flipped open the visor attached to his helmet, revealing a very human face. “Apologies, Lieutenant. ...Where's Michael?”

“Rasha took him to his ancestors.” Dravon nodded to the woman in Buffy's arms. “We need to get her to medical.”

“You, too.” Spike explained to the sentries, “Got a bullet in his leg. Losing a lot of blood.”

The taller sentry flipped open his visor to squint at the wound in question, and then at the strangers. “Who are these two?”

“Off-worlders.” Dravon looked from the woman who carried Polly to the vampire who was holding him up. “Friendlies.”

“Should I wake the colonel?” Charlie asked.

Dravon gave him a look that spoke to his opinion of that question.

“Of course, sir. Obviously, sir.” He turned to lead them into the camp. “As soon as you and the witch are seen to.”

*~*~*

There wasn't much in the tent they'd been ushered into. The space was dominated by a pair of metal folding tables with their ends pushed together, surrounded by metal folding chairs, making its purpose as a sort of conference room obvious. There was a water dispenser topped with stacks of paper cups on a rolling cart in one back corner, and the kind of floor light one might see at a construction site in the other. At the front of the tent, beside the door, stood their guard, a young woman in the same grey armor as the sentries. In her left hand, she held her helmet, while her right rested loosely on the holster at her hip.

Buffy leaned back in the chair she'd chosen, her eyes tracking back and forth as Spike paced the length of the tent on the other side of the tables. “If you don't stop soon, she's going to shoot you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Or I'm going to beat the stupid out of you. Sit down and relax. You're making us look like a threat.”

“I'm gonna be, if they don't send us right back where we came from.”

“They're humans, Spike. And carrying guns. So you can't hurt them, but they can easily hurt _me_.” She rose from her seat and shifted her tone into something far less mild. “So _sit down_ , or the last thing I do before I face a firing squad will be to make sure the only thing they have to send back is a pile of dust.”

Spike narrowed his eyes at her. “You wouldn't.”

“I'm considering it. _Sit._ ”

Their conversation was interrupted by the tent's wood-framed door opening. The balding, middle-aged man who entered was dressed in a grey uniform more like Dravon's than that of the guards they'd encountered. Unarmored and unarmed. Spike noticed this immediately.

Buffy only noticed Spike noticing. “ _Sit,_ ” she hissed again.

Waving her off, Spike took a slow step toward the newcomer, sizing him up. The man responded in kind, and they were soon nearly nose to nose, eyes locked on each other in tense silence.

The guard at the door unbuttoned her holster.

Buffy balled her fists, ready to fight her way out of the tent if it became necessary.

Finally, the man cracked a small smile. He addressed the guard. “Thank you, Shine.”

“Sir?”

“I think you've collected quite enough grain for the gossip mill for one night, Corporal. Step outside, and keep anyone from coming close enough to hear our conversation. Yourself included. ”

“Yes, sir.”

The door closed behind the guard, and the man slapped a friendly hand on Spike's shoulder as he stepped around him. “I'm going to like you.”

He made his way to the water dispenser, and filled one of the paper cups. He offered it first to Spike, who shook his head, and then to Buffy, who accepted without easing the tense, suspicious expression she wore, or unclenching her other hand.

“A pair of warriors, then. There are worse kinds of off-worlders.” He filled a second cup for himself and came to face Buffy across the table, offering a small bow. “Pete Samuels, Lieutenant Colonel in Her Majesty's Frandrey forces.”

Buffy threw a glance at Spike before replying, “Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer.”

Samuels echoed her glance, his expression shifting into one of confusion.

“Yeah, I know, it's weird.” Buffy sighed. “Spike is... kind of a long story. We mostly just haven't gotten around to killing each other yet. We're kind of in a 'truce by default' thing right now.”

“Intriguing,” Samuels murmured, pulling out a chair and gesturing for his guests to sit with him. “Please.”

After trading glances again, Buffy resumed her seat and Spike pointedly walked around the table to sit beside her, on the opposite side from Samuels. He spoke the moment he was settled into a chair. “Dravon talk to you?”

“Briefly, before he went into surgery. He explained the circumstances of your arrival.”

“And the witch?”

Samuels shook his head. “Too soon to tell.” He took a deep breath, readying himself to deliver the bad news. “In the meantime, I've no other witch to offer you. Our other witch was killed -along with nearly a quarter of our unit- in an attack last week.”

“A quarter of...? I'm so sorry,” Buffy whispered.

“I've a stack of ash boxes and another of letters to families sitting in my office, and no way to send them home.” He rubbed his forehead tiredly, then made a long study of the paper cup before him, as if he were wishing it held something stronger. “We're alone out here, friends. The only unit between the Calanese and the Hedgren River settlements. No one thought they'd come this way, so most of our forces are further south. We were sent up this way primarily as a scouting unit, to keep our eyes open for approaching Calanese, and send word if they headed north. By the time we saw them, it was too late. I've tried reaching out to my superiors, but there's no response. We suspect the Calanese have set up a signal jamming system.”

Buffy studied the colonel as he downed the water in his cup the way one might empty a shot glass. “So if you're cut off from help, so are we,” she whispered.

“Until we can get back in contact with civilization, or at least another Frandrey unit, I'm afraid I've no means of sending you back,” the colonel confirmed. “If such an accident were to occur, this is nearly the worst way it could have. You have my apologies.”

“Hell of a lot of good that'll do us,” Spike grumbled. “So where do we need to go to find a witch who hasn't had her noodle shaken?”

“Find and take down the signal stations while keeping the Calanese from reaching the farms across the Hedgren, reconnect with our own supply line, and try not to die before reinforcements arrive,” Samuels said flatly. “That's this unit's mission right now. All I can offer you is a place among us while we attempt to execute it. It isn't an especially safe place, but it's all I have. When we can get you to someone who can return you to Terra'bo, we will.”

“Terra'bo?”

“The old world.” Samuels' small smile returned. “A contraction of 'terra,' meaning 'world,' and 'albo,' meaning 'old.' That's what we call your world here, the place the humans of Rasheen came from, fleeing religious courts and witch trials.”

“I see,” Buffy said absently. Her mind was clearly on something else. “What can we do to help your mission? You know, make it go faster?”

“ _We_?” Spike raised an eyebrow at her.

“How else are we going to get home, genius?”

Samuels looked back and forth between them. “A vampire and someone strong enough to kill one -and carry Polly as if she were a doll- are assets I won't turn down if offered them. But this is not your war, friends.”

“Damn straight, it isn't. What say you get us a map, point us toward the nearest place we're likely to find a good witch, and--” Spike was cut off by Buffy kicking him under the table. “Oi! That's the shortest road home, isn't it?”

“We're in the middle of a _war zone,_ Spike. You know that thing I said earlier, about people with guns? Running off on our own is a great way for me to get _shot_.”

“So is staying here, sounds like.” He shrugged. “Besides, if you're already bleeding, and I'm feeling peckish...”

“Ugh!” Buffy turned away from him in disgust. “Let him go and get a few bullets in him, to teach him a lesson. I'll stay with you guys.”

Samuels shifted in his seat. “Spike, is it?” He waited for a nod. “Spike, you'd be best served staying with your friend.”

“I wouldn't call us friends,” Buffy interrupted.

“Then he should make some. Quickly. You're nearly human, are you not?” At Buffy's nod, he continued, “That is unlikely to be a problem. But this is a three species world. The Rasheen, the Humans, and the Jorosi. Anyone else...” The colonel shifted again, looking uncomfortable. “Some off-worlders have a more difficult time than others.”

“He doesn't mind being an outcast. I think he revels in it.”

Spike threw her a glare. “I can speak for myself.” At the look he received in response, he sighed. “Alright, the bitch has me pegged. But I still don't see a problem. All the more reason a witch would be willing to ship us back, yeah?”

“Well, that's a fair point, if you could get to one...”

Buffy waved a hand to redirect the conversation. “Back up a sec. If this is a three species world, who are these Calanese guys you're fighting?”

“Rasheeni by species and by culture,” Samuels answered. “But not politically. They split off and started their own nation a couple hundred years ago, over a disagreement about continuing to allow humans to live among them. Most of the human population was still concentrated around New Salem back then, but as more and more of us integrated into Rasheen society, merging our cultures, tensions rose ...until war broke out. The only way to end it was to draw up new borders and send any surviving humans who were on the Calan side of the line back to Rasheen.” He sighed and glanced around at the tent's canvas walls. “Not that doing so truly resolved anything. We've been fighting these sporadic territorial wars ever since.”

“Awesome. We've fallen into the middle of a 200 year old demon civil war featuring racism and land grabs. And I thought sharing dreams about spiders and wrecking balls with Faith would be the strangest part of my week.”

“The situation isn't ideal,” Samuels admitted. “Not for any of us.” He stood up. “I'm sure you'd like to speak privately. A tent is being prepared for you. Corporal Shine -the young soldier who is standing guard outside- will show you to it, as well as to the bathing tent, latrine, and mess. The first bell you'll hear in the morning announces the opening of the mess.” He nodded to Spike. “I've spoken to Major Bradford in Medical about your dietary needs. See him tomorrow morning.”

“Morning might be an issue, mate.”

“Not here,” Samuels corrected. “It's been a long time, but vampires have visited Rasheen before.”

“Munching on an apparently very unafraid population, no doubt,” Buffy added, looking very confused by the treatment Spike was receiving from people who knew nothing about his chip.

“Lessons learned long ago in New Salem,” Samuels said on his way to the door. “If you make sure they know there are witches at hand to keep them in check if it becomes necessary, offer their needed food freely, and give them the chance to walk in the day, they'll spend their holidays peacefully. I'll accept a slayer watching, in lieu of a healthy witch.”

As soon as the door closed behind the colonel, Spike turned to smirk at Buffy. “Having second thoughts about taking that ring from me yet?”

“The first thing you did when you got it was try to kill me. So, no.”

“You could have just offered me a free taste while I had it. According to this lot, that could have been enough to turn me into a puppy.”

“Again with the 'no.'” She shook her head, dismissing that conversation. “So I'm pretty sure we aren't prisoners.”

He got up and went to peek out the door. “That Shine girl's not so much standing guard as standing about.”

“Good. I guess bringing them their wounded counts for something. They seem to trust us.”

“Free to go.” He turned around to face her. “Only question is, you coming with me, Slayer?”

Buffy stared at him. “Coming where, exactly? On a field trip through a war zone, in a demon dimension we know nothing about, in search of a witch? What part of 'I don't want to get shot' was too complicated for you?”

“You stay here, you'll still see some flying bullets. Come with me, you might get home to your watcher and your mates without having to wait on these people to finish their little border spat.” He frowned at her hesitation. “Could be weeks -or even months- before this lot gets back to civilization. If they ever do.”

“You haven't answered my question, Spike. Where exactly are you heading?”

He shrugged. “Anywhere there's some city lights, for a start. If these people have signal jamming whatsits, they've got to have something like telephones. All we need is to find one person who can ring up a witch for us, and we're halfway home.”

Buffy gnawed on her lower lip while she studied the metal table before her. Finally, she waved him on. “Go ahead. I won't stop you.”

“Alright, then.” Spike stopped at the door, and turned back to face her, feeling like he should say something, and not knowing what. Lacking a better idea, he murmured, “Good luck, Slayer.”

“You, too.”

When she was alone in the conference tent, Buffy let out a long, shuddering breath while she took another look at her surroundings. “Weird wrecking ball,” she whispered to herself. “Really, _really_ weird.”

*~*~*

The camp had settled into a quiet slumber while Spike and Buffy had been lodged in the conference tent. Aside from Corporal Shine, loitering a few yards away, the only signs of wakefulness were in the shadows moving behind the translucent vinyl windows of a large structure comprised of a mix of wood panels and tent canvases at the opposite end of a long, double row of tents from where Spike stood. The Staff of Asclepius emblazoned on the door of the structure spoke to both its purpose and the Earthly origins of the people who worked within it.

“Terra'bo,” Spike reminded himself in a whisper.

Corporal Shine turned toward the sound of his voice, her face a question. “Say again?”

“Was just thinking, same people as home.” He indicated the tent behind him. “Her people.”

“Yours, too.”

“Debatable.”

She shrugged that off. “Not really. I mean, you're clearly 'her people' if she's only here because she tried to keep you from falling into a portal. So if we're like her people, we're like yours. All the same.” She blushed under his scrutiny. “I _may_ have been lingering too close while Lieutenant Dravon briefed the colonel.”

“That's what he meant about you collecting gossip, eh?”

“I'm his personal guard. I hear a lot. But he trusts me, which is why he had me take watch until he could get to you.”

Spike barely heard this explanation, as his thoughts were still churning through her previous comments. When he realized the silence between them had grown awkward, he straightened his stance and tried to look intimidating. “Where can I get a map of the area?”

Shine wrinkled her nose while she thought about that. “The command tent, probably.” She started to gesture in that direction, then stopped herself. “You're going to try to break through the line?”

“I'm gonna get the hell out of here, try to find a witch who can send me back.”

“What about her?” Shine waved to the tent behind him.

“She's gonna try to wait it out with you lot, get a witch on that Samuels bloke's schedule. Likely get herself killed while she waits.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Shame to miss it.”

“She has the right idea.”

“No, she doesn't.”

Shine tilted her head to the side and squinted at him. “What makes you so sure?”

“Sitting still in a dangerous place is _never_ a smart move, pet. Slayer knows it as well as I do. But she's had her brain addled by some dreams sent from above. Not thinking straight. She could fight through whatever we came across out there. She knows it as well as I do. The way I see it, the further both of us get away from a bunch of uniforms, the better off we'll be.” Thinking he was answering the question on her face, he added, “I've had a bad run of luck with military types. Hers hasn't been all that much better, though it'd take an act of Parliament to get her to admit it.”

But that wasn't the question she had on her mind. “'Dreams sent from above?' Does that mean dreams sent by the gods for guidance?”

“Gods or something like 'em.” Spike shrugged. “Hardly matters.”

“Except it does. Did the dreams come from Vereen or Rasha?”

“Who?”

She sighed, exasperated with herself. “Off-worlders. I forgot for a moment ...Rasha is the goddess of war. She watches over soldiers, children, and lost souls. Vereen is the god of love. He watches over workers, the helpless, and the dreamers. You can tell who sent a dream by the content. If it isn't a dream that offers guidance, or isn't clear which god sent it, it isn't a god-sent dream at all.”

Spike fought back a chuckle. “The dream was a Rasha type, in that case. Most of hers likely are.”

“You're sure?”

He nodded. “'Slayer dreams' is what they call 'em where we come from. Only Buffy and the other one can get 'em.”

“If Rasha told her to stay, she should. And you should stay with her.”

Spike's smile dropped at the young woman's serious tone. “Religious type, are you?”

“No, but I don't believe in coincidences. If a stronger-than-normal off-worlder has a dream that seems like it could have been sent by Rasha, and then just happens to fall into Rasha's homeland, into the middle of a war, she's here for a reason.” Shine stepped forward and grabbed him by the elbow, turning him around to face the conference tent. “Ask her what the dream told her to do. Ask her if you were in it. _Then_ decide if you want to wander out into the woods alone, or stay here with your friend.”

“She's not my friend.”

“You sound a lot less sure about that than you do about her dreams.”

Spike threw the corporal a glare, then shifted his focus to the tent door. “Say I go in there, talk to her about the dreams. Then will you get me a map?”

“You can count on it.”

He studied her eyes for a moment, deciding if he could trust her to keep her word. “Alright. Deal.” He moved toward the door, and Shine moved with him.

To his questioning look she asked, “I have to make sure you ask, don't I?”

He rolled his eyes as he opened the door. “Fine.”

The sound of the door closing made Buffy visibly jerk as her thoughts were interrupted. She looked up, embarrassed to find Corporal Shine staring at her. “Uh, hi. I guess I wasn't supposed to stay in here so long. I just have some stuff on my mind.” She looked to Spike. “I thought you were leaving?”

“Just got a question for you before I go: Was there anything in that dream about all this?”

Buffy rose to her feet. “ A wall. A wrecking ball tearing a hole in it. Your voice, saying what you said to Dravon about his leg, just before we fell through the portal. And me shoving Faith out of the way.”

Shine gave Spike a look that clearly said 'I told you so.'

Buffy frowned at the two of them. “How did you know this was in the dream?”

Spike jerked a thumb at Shine. “She did. Said she'd get me a map out of here if I asked about it.”

Buffy turned away from them, grabbing her paper cup to refill it, giving herself an excuse to have her back to them. “Ok. You asked. You can go.”

Something in her resigned tone drew Spike's attention. He crossed the tent to her. “Slayer? What aren't you saying?”

“The rest of the dream...” She looked up at him, and it became obvious she was near tears. “I thought it meant I was supposed to die. There were things in it that pointed to Faith being the slayer. _In my place, not beside me._ And now... All I know for sure is, no matter what I do, I probably won't make it back to Sunnydale quickly. Either getting back to civilization will take weeks or months, like you said, or I won't get back at all.”

He took a step back, absorbing this. “So you think you should wait, let her get some time in running the show for you?”

“I think if the dream didn't mean for me to be here for a little while, it meant I was supposed to be dead. Personally, I prefer this interpretation.”

“Rock and a hard place.”

“Well, yeah. But I like 'not dead Buffy.'”

“That makes one of us.”

“So why are you still here?”

“Good question.” Spike turned away, about to rejoin Shine at the tent's door, then turned back. “What should I tell 'em back home?”

“Tell them... Tell them I'm ok. And I'll be home when I can get there. Faith will understand that she's supposed to take the lead. She saw most of what I saw. She probably thinks I'm dead already.” She frowned at the realization that Spike was offering to do something nice for her, and seemed sincere about his intentions. “And, um, thanks.”

“Don't thank me yet, Slayer. I mean to have this chip out by the time you find your way home. Then we'll see how grateful you are.”

She smiled, welcoming the shift back into normalcy. “It's a date. Just give me a couple of days to see everyone and get my bearings before I have to dust your pathetic ass. I want to gather an audience.”

“Two days,” he agreed. “So they can all see me get number three, and go running for the hills while I drain you dry.”

“You owe me that much, anyway. You were two days early for our _first_ death match, remember?”

Shine could restrain herself no longer. “ _What?!_ ”

Spike threw her a grin. “Told you we weren't friends, didn't I?”

“Mortal enemies, technically,” Buffy added. She reached out to touch the sleeve of Spike's coat, drawing his attention back to her. “Tell my mom I love her, ok? Just in case...”

He dropped his hand over hers just long enough to give it a quick squeeze. “I will.”

Shine was still staring when Spike walked by her and exited the conference tent. “Mortal enemies?” she asked after door had closed. “But you want him to speak to your mother?”

“Oh, _they_ get along. Don't ask me why or how.”

“I don't understand this relationship. At all.”

Buffy laughed. “It's always been complicated with Spike. One day, we'll get around to killing each other. Just not today.”

The tent door opened again, and Spike stepped back inside. “Come on, Shine. You owe me a map.”

Shine turned around. “And you owe _her_ two days. There's a big time distortion between here and Terra'bo. Two days isn't as long there as it is here. You'll hardly be missed.”

“Oh, he won't be missed, anyway.”

“Go to hell, Slayer.”

“You'll get your map in two days.” Over Spike's shout of objection, she said, “I didn't say _when_ I'd steal a map from the command tent for you. I only said I would. You owe your friend two days.”

“I told you--”

“We're not friends,” Buffy finished for him. “Does 'mortal enemies' mean something different to you people?”

“Mortal enemies should act like it,” Shine replied. “You two don't.” She addressed Spike. “I still don't think you should go. I think she heard your voice in that dream for a reason.”

“Yeah, because it was about that bloody portal. It wasn't about me.”

“Give it two days. Just to think it over before you decide to leave her here.”

Spike turned to Buffy to check her reaction, and got a shrug in response.

“This is between you two. I'm just waiting to see how long it takes her to realize having you around is more trouble than it's worth. You could be setting a new speed record as we speak.”

“Bugger off, Slayer.”

“You first.”

He narrowed his eyes on Shine. “Fine. Two days to reconsider. Then the map. No more delays.”

“I'll have it in your hands by this time, two nights from now,” Shine promised. She waved for Buffy to join them at the door. “Come on, I'll show you two to your tent.”

“Tent? Singular?” Buffy chugged the contents of her cup. “Your colonel didn't mention we'd be stuck together.”

Spike furrowed his brow, thinking back to the conversation in question. “Actually, pet, I think he did. But we got distracted by the 'free human blood and sunshine' bit that came after.” He shrugged. “Or I did, anyway.”

“Great.” Buffy crushed the cup in her hand as she crossed the tent. “At least I know you won't bite.”

“I hate you,” Spike grumbled as Shine led them out.

“Mutual.”

“If you two keep the whole camp awake with your bickering, someone is going to shoot you.”


	9. Knowing Someone

_**Chapter 9: Knowing Someone** _

_Nine years, two months ago_

_Somewhere in the Hedgren River valley_

Buffy was asleep when Spike came into the tent they were sharing, carrying the map Della Shine had promised him. He sat down on the side of his own cot and watched her for a few minutes before moving to sit on the edge of hers.

She woke with a start the second he touched her shoulder, and had one fist balled and raised before she had even opened her eyes.

He stopped the fist before it reached him. “Just me, Slayer.”

She dropped her hand and pulled herself up into a sitting position. “What's up?”

He lifted the map just enough to draw her attention to it. “Shine came through.”

“Oh. Ok. So you're going?”

“Yeah. Wanted to say good-bye.”

“I thought we did that two days ago.”

“Yeah, but...”

“But what?”

There was a long pause. “Come with me.”

She wrinkled up her nose. “No.”

“Alright, then.” He stood up. “Just thought I'd ask.”

She watched him walk out of the tent, not knowing what to make of the exchange. She tried to go back to sleep, but found she couldn't. Giving up after an hour of tossing and turning, she decided to go for a walk.

Spike was standing at the treeline at the edge of camp, staring at the sky, when she found him.

“You don't look very gone,” she said as she approached.

He didn't look at her. “Just thinkin'... I don't know anyone here.”

“Neither do I. But most of them seem pretty nice. Also, they're feeding and housing us. All the colonel has asked in return is that we take some guard shifts and stuff, help out around camp.”

“...Except you.”

“What?”

“I don't know anyone but you, Slayer. I don't know their world, or how it works, or if the first witch I see is gonna assume the worst the second she lays eyes on me, and not even hear me out.”

“I suppose that's possible.” Buffy shrugged. “ _I_ tend to assume the worst when I see you.”

He let that go without comment, and continued his stargazing. “None of them look right,” he murmured after a few minutes. “Back home, I know all the major constellations. Could tell you the month just by where they are, if I'm in a place I've been a while. Dru used to ask me to tell her about them on lucid nights, when she didn't think they were talking to her. I'd elaborate on the myths, spin out yarns for her for hours...”

Buffy shifted her weight, finding herself uncomfortable with hearing something from him that felt so personal. “They, uh, seem brighter than at home.”

“Middle of nowhere, pet. Less light pollution. Can't stargaze in a city, and towns aren't much better, these days.” He sighed. “Wouldn't mind a little city light just now, though.”

“Yeah, for the possible contact with a witch.”

“Or just so I wasn't able to look up to see foreign stars.”

“I'm pretty sure the two red moons would still be a giveaway, even in a city.”

“That's not the point, Slayer. It's that...” He sighed. “Never mind.”

They stood in silence for a few more minutes before Buffy whispered, “They aren't the stars you shared with Drusilla.”

“No,” he replied quietly. “They aren't her stars at all. And I can't name a single constellation.”

Buffy pointed back to camp. “There are dozens of locals nearby you can ask. I mean, I can already tell you they probably named one for each of their gods, but the others could be anything. Maybe they even have their own Big Dipper.”

“Ursa Major,” Spike corrected. “It's a bear, not a bucket.”

She threw him an irritated glance. “Weren't you planning on going away?”

He kept studying the sky. “The Ancient Greeks said it was a nymph named Callisto, changed into a bear as punishment for shagging Zeus. Hera or Artemis did it, depending who you ask.”

“Callisto,” Buffy echoed, trying and failing to hide her interest in the story. “Pretty name. And probably a prettier bear than Hus was.”

Spike looked down from his stargazing to throw her a smirk as he recalled the bear in question. “Never a dull moment 'round you, is there?”

“Lots, actually. You'd be surprised how rare a living room fight with a mystical ghost bear really is.”

That comment earned her a laugh.

“So why would Artemis care who Zeus was sleeping with, anyway? I mean, I get why Hera would...”

They were sitting in the grass at the treeline, still talking about constellation myths, when the first mess bell rang, just after dawn. Spike shoved the map deep in an inner coat pocket on their way back to camp.

*~*~*

_Five months, one week ago_

_Sunnydale_

“Maybe she's just made a friend or something, someone who can help her get through it,” Xander suggested. “That's what happened when Buffy ran away a couple of years ago.” He shuddered. “But it didn't exactly end well.”

Faith ignored the glare Giles threw her when she shoved aside a book to sit on his desk, her booted feet resting on the adjacent chair. “I don't think it's a new pal. It's...” she furrowed her brow. “Like relief, or something. Like she's gotten _less_ worried.”

“That doesn't make any sense.” Riley pulled himself up from his lean against the banister. “If it were me, and _my_ mom had been told I'd been sucked into some hell dimension--”

“If it _is_ a hell dimension,” Anya put in.

“--she'd be getting _more_ worried about me as time went on, not less.”

Faith shrugged. “I'm just telling you what I'm seeing. Something's up with Joyce, and it's sudden. Like someone flipped a switch sometime in the last week.”

Giles pulled the chair out from under her feet as a hint. “Have you spoken to her about her change in demeanor?”

“What do you expect me to say? 'Hey Joyce, you seem kinda chipper compared to how you've been lately. If you've got some magic pill that gets you settled into losing a kid overnight, maybe you ought to share that with the rest of the world?'”

“Don't talk about her like she's dead,” Riley objected.

“Because she isn't,” Xander added. “She can't be.”

Faith didn't reply, being too distracted by the tingling sensation on the back of her neck. She hopped off the desk and opened the front door just as Angel was raising a fist to knock. “About time you showed up.”

“Got stopped in the middle of town by a bunch of military types. They came out of nowhere and jumped me.” Angel caught Giles' eye and nodded to the threshold in a silent question.

“Yes, you still have an invitation. ...Unfortunately.”

“Thanks.” Angel stepped inside, and his eyes immediately went to Riley. “And they were dressed just like you.”

Riley crossed his arms over his chest. “How many of them did you kill?”

“None. Obviously.” Angel rolled his eyes. “Where did you get this guy?”

Xander waved in introduction. “Angel, ex-boyfriend from Hell, meet Riley, current boyfriend.”

Riley held out a hand, offering a perfunctory shake.

Angel ignored it, opting instead to scrutinize the other man. “Hmm. I didn't think you were her type.”

Giles gave Faith a nudge, as a hint for her to keep her mouth shut. He cleared his throat. “I believe Wesley said you'd be bringing a list?”

“Two, actually.” Angel pulled two folded sheets of paper from his inner jacket pocket and handed one to the watcher. “This is every book title on dimensional studies he could remember seeing in the Council's library. I don't know how either of you is going to talk them into sharing, though, since they fired you both.”

“Through me,” Faith answered. “They're letting Giles play psuedo-watcher, 'cause they don't like either of us, and they think they'll have to deal with both slayers if they kick up a fuss. I say Giles gives them a ring, tells them I've done the 'turn over a new leaf' thing, and I'm studying portals and stuff.”

“No one's going to buy that.” Xander shook his head. “Telling them the truth might work, though. Not that they love the Buffster all that much, either, but they know which slayer they can rely on.”

“Thanks, man,” Faith deadpanned. “That means a lot.”

“I'm just saying, they aren't stupid.”

Giles sighed. “Xander, perhaps you should stop digging this hole before you find yourself buried in it?”

“T-t-tell them it's for Willow,” came a quiet voice from the couch. Tara stood up to face the group. “It wouldn't hurt anything for them to know you're helping to train a witch, would it?”

Angel held up the other sheet of paper. “Where is she, anyway? Wes sent the titles of some spell books that might have dimensional tracking spells in them.”

“Dorm,” Faith answered, taking the list and passing it to Tara. “She has a paper due in the morning.” In answer to Angel's questioning look, she gestured to Tara. “This is her girlfriend, our other witch.”

All eyes shifted abruptly to Tara amid a chorus of “ _What?!”_

The witch in question blushed rosy red, and her eyes shifted to the floor.

Faith winced in realization. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I-- Shit. I thought everybody had figured it out.”

“Faith...” Giles' attempt to chastise the slayer failed for lack of words. He reached for the bottle of bourbon on the pass-through ledge, buying himself time by filling a glass. “Perhaps... Perhaps you ought to get to know someone before you... Do _that._ ”

*~*~*

_Eight years, ten months ago_

_Somewhere in the Hedgren River valley_

Spike tapped on the side of the row of file cabinets that delineated the colonel's cramped office from the rest of the command tent. “Pete? Della said you wanted to see me.”

Colonel Samuels dropped his pen onto the paperwork on his desk. “Yes, come in.” He pulled a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the bottom drawer of his desk. “I hope you're off duty for the night.”

“You'd be amazed how little that matters.” Spike settled into one of the guest chairs and took the first glass to be filled. “What're we drinking to?”

“Peace.”

Spike raised his glass. “May Calan get put in its place, then.”

“I meant between you and Buffy.”

Spike's glass was lowered. “Not fighting with her. Hell, I've barely spoken to her in the last month.”

Samuels leaned back in his desk chair, taking his glass with him. “And why is that?”

“Too busy. Opposing shifts, and all that. I hear more 'bout her from mutual friends than I see in person.”

“Busy. Are you sure you want to stick with that story?”

“What're you trying to say, Pete?”

“That you're avoiding her. I'm not saying I don't think it's mutual. She's probably avoiding you a little, too. But it's interesting. You were nearly inseparable when you first came here.”

Spike shrugged that off. “We've had time to make friends, get comfortable with the situation.”

“So you've been busy. And you have friends.” Pete took a sip from his glass and shook his head in disappointment. “I thought she said you were the creative type.”

A slow smile spread across the vampire's face. “She said that, did she?”

The colonel leaned across the desk to point at him. “Gotcha! I _knew_ there was something going on.”

Spike drained his glass in a single gulp and then reached for the bottle to refill it. “Nothing going on, Pete. Not likely to ever be. …She's told you a lot about me, I'm guessing?”

“A fair portion of what she knows of you, I believe.”

“So you know what she thinks of me.”

“To an extent.” Pete studied the vampire through narrowed eyes, trying to verify his previous assertion. “But I think the limit of what she's willing to share has a lot in common with why you're avoiding her.”

The vampire shrugged casually while carefully breaking eye contact. “Doesn't matter. Once we get back--”

“What if you don't?”

That question caught Spike's attention.

“I only mean that it could be an option. A few Terra'bo refugees settle here in any given year. The immigration never really stopped, Spike. It only slowed. A place could be made for the two of you in Rasheen.”

“She'd never hear of it. Slayer's got family, friends, and her precious duty to get back to. All this is just a horrible extended holiday to her.”

“Fine, then. We'll deal in the here and now.” Pete waved across the desk. “Come on, friend. I know you're desperate to tell _someone_ why you're avoiding her.”

Spike chuckled. “Slayer must've told you a lot, 'cause you act like you know me at least as well as she does.”

“I just know what it looks like when a man loses his sense of self-preservation to a woman's charms.”

That comment earned a wince and a whispered, “Damn you, Bradford...”

Pete drained his glass and brought back his triumphant smirk from earlier. “I told you I got you, didn't I?” He leaned forward to refill his glass. “Major Bradford told me what's been going on since the rationing changed. I had to ask. You're getting thinner faster than anyone else here.”

“Eh, you know how it is. Humans who aren't eating enough can't replace lost blood all that fast. Best not to weaken the troops.”

“Which is why the one person here who can replenish faster -and from whom you'd need the least- has volunteered to be your primary donor. But instead of being smart about the situation, you're getting... squeamish.”

“Not the word I'd use.”

“I'll settle for foolish.”

There was a long silence. “It's just... That's not what I want from her anymore, Pete.”

Pete took a slow sip from his glass, using the time to study his guest over the rim. “Feel better?”

“Eh, maybe a touch.”

“Good enough. Now stop telling Bradford 'no,' and accept what you're given. That's an order.”

“I'm not one of your troops, old man.”

“So long as you're living in this camp, working alongside my people, I don't care if you're not in uniform. You're one of mine, and I expect you to be fit for duty.” At the challenging look he received, he smirked again. “I know you still have that map Shine gave you. I could always insist you return to your original plan to leave Buffy here and strike out on your own.”

Spike held up a hand in surrender. “Fine, fine. Have it your way.”

Pete's smirk stretched into a gratified smile. “I _knew_ it.”

*~*~*

_Eight years, nine months ago_

_Somewhere in the Hedgren River valley_

Buffy stood in the doorway to the medical supply tent with her jaw hanging open as she watched the team that had gone up Carabon Hill being crutched and carried to the front of the infirmary, where the nurses were scrambling around them, shouting out a triage order to a man with a clipboard.

Buffy's own clipboard fell from her hands, the inventory she'd been taking forgotten, when she realized one of the bleeding men was Colonel Samuels.

She rushed to his side. “Pete! What happened up there?”

A nurse shoved her out of the way. “Back up, Summers. Talk to him when he's out of surgery.”

Buffy did as she was told, and watched as Samuels was carried into the infirmary. When she spotted Corporal Shine, she grabbed her by the arm. “Della! What the hell--?”

Shine turned to look at her, her eyes wide and scared. “I-- I think they saw us coming.” She gestured vaguely toward the command tent, where Lieutenant Dravon stood in the doorway, watching the patients being carried indoors. “I have to brief Drav.”

Buffy followed her, desperate to hear the story.

A big-eared, jolly looking Rasheeni named Traygo, sentry Charlie Dover, and Spike all spotted the briefing in progress over the next few minutes, and came to join in the eavesdropping.

By the time Shine had finished her tale, the noise and chaos outside the infirmary had been taken inside, and the center of the camp had fallen into an eerie silence.

“Mother Rasha,” Dravon murmured to himself as he sorted through everything he'd just been told. “Now what?”

Buffy turned to make eye contact with Spike, and held his gaze for a moment.

He nodded, and started toward the armory. “Come on, Tray. You can carry some things.”

Curious, Traygo obeyed.

Charlie watched them walk away. “Huh?”

“Now you get those nurses to let me have a chat with Pete before he goes into surgery,” Buffy answered Dravon. “And Della uses her charms to get us a few more volunteers.”

The corporal in question looked just as confused as Charlie. “What? Was there a discussion of a plan or something I missed?”

Dravon nodded to Buffy, understanding what was happening. “There was, we just didn't all get to hear it. You two know each other better than you think you do.”


	10. Sister Stargazers

 

_**Chapter 10: Sister Stargazers** _

_Five months ago_

_Sunnydale_

“Not much to hunt tonight,” Angel observed, breaking a long silence.

“This Adam guy is probably throwing a recruiting party or something,” Faith replied. “I don't know what he's up to yet, but it's probably going to be some kind of chaotic shitshow.”

“Are you sure you're up for it?”

Faith stopped to look up at the hilltop ringed in willow trees. “I'm sure I have to be. 'Cause if you don't have another slayer in your back pocket, man...”

“I know the phone is going to ring anytime now, calling me back to L.A., but I will be here every minute I can if you don't think--”

“I can handle it. Just 'cause I don't want to, doesn't mean...” She sighed. “I never signed up for this.”

“Neither did Buffy.” He gestured toward the hill that held her gaze. “What's up there?”

She turned to look at him. “You don't know? Wow. Even Spike knew about that.” Shaking her head at his confused expression, she started up the hill, gesturing for him to join her. “The proof B _did_ sign up for this, I guess you could call it. Got so invested in the job, she found herself a break room to chill in between slays.”

Angel pushed aside the curtain of hanging branches when they reached the summit, and took a long look around the small clearing, his eyes eventually following Faith's to the view of the night sky above them. “Pretty,” he murmured.

“Peaceful,” she countered, settling onto her back in the grass for a better view of the stars.

He sat beside her and leaned back on his hands. “She came up here a lot?”

“Enough that Blondie knew the habit, at least.” There was a long silence. “You think he's still kicking around?”

“I like to think so. He and I... We've never really gotten along, but...” He shrugged. “Family.”

“Yeah... I know the feeling.”

*~*~*

_Eight years, nine months ago_

_Somewhere in the Hedgren River valley_

Lieutenant Dravon slipped into the tent and crouched beside the occupied cot. “Summers!” he whispered. “Wake up!” He reached out to shake her shoulder, and had his wrist immediately grabbed. “Take ease! It's Dravon!”

Buffy opened her eyes as she released him. “Dravon? What's going on?” She sat up far enough to look over his shoulder to the cot on the other side of the small tent. “Where's Shine?”

“She's on duty. The colonel left the infirmary, against Bradford's advice. He didn't want to be abed when the supply truck arrived.”

“Supply truck?”

Dravon nodded, the smile he'd been withholding breaking widely across his face. “It should be here within the hour. Congratulations, Summers. That was fine work.”

She fell back onto her cot with a deep sigh of relief. “I'm just glad it was enough.”

“If it weren't, it would indicate we have _much_ larger problems than getting back in contact with our people to tell them where to find us. I assume you two will be leaving soon? Now that we'll have a line of contact to some witches?”

“I don't know. I guess I'll have to talk to Spike. Personally, I don't want to leave you guys like this. Restoring your supply line doesn't get you out of here.”

“We've made contact with the world beyond this valley. Reinforcements won't be far behind this first truck.”

“Reinforcements aren't an exit.”

“We'll survive, though. We'll have some support.”

“In other words, 'You've been useful. Now go away.'”

Dravon chuckled. “Most of us will be sad to see the two of you go, and you know it.”

“Most.”

“Well, you understand how things are here. But it doesn't matter. You have a chance to go home now.”

“Yeah. I guess I do.” Buffy sighed and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the cot as soon as the lieutenant stood to make space for her to do so. “Have you told Spike?”

“Not yet.”

She reached for her boots. “I will. How long?”

“Within the hour, we hope. Soon, at least. They weren't very specific about when the driver departed.” Dravon studied her while she laced up a black Frandrey boot and rolled the leg of tan civilian cargo pants gifted from one of the smaller humans down over it.

“I'm going to do the left boot next,” she said, not looking up. “You'll want to stay for that.”

“Huh?”

“You're staring.” She sighed and finally looked up at his mottled orange face, finding it creased at the forehead. “What's on your mind, Drav?”

“I thought you would be more excited. You gave us a means of survival, and get a chance to get a witch to send you home in exchange.”

“Let's see... The Calanese would have found the mess we left on Carabon Hill by now, the colonel refuses to rest and let himself heal, no one higher up has issued an order for the 4th Scouts to get out of this hellhole yet, Polly is _still_ in a coma, I'm about to leave all of you here...” Buffy turned her attention to her left boot. “And then there's Spike...”

“ A medical transport is coming for Polly. It would be here by sunrise, if the colonel had any say in it, but I think it will be a couple of days. Bradford is sure the neurosurgeon at the base hospital at Port Shelby can set things right enough that healing spells can do the rest.”

“Doctor Clement?”

Dravon's forehead creased even more deeply. “How do you know of him?”

“Bradford talked to me about sending Spike to the same guy.”

“Ah, for that thing those chea'pahs put in him.”

“Yeah. I was kinda hoping we'd get there. He doesn't really need it anymore, you know?”

“You have surgeons in Terra'bo. You could find one willing.” Dravon gave her a half smile as she stood up. “Or you could _make_ one willing.”

“It's not just the chip. It's...” Her eyes drifted back to her boots. “Things will be different when we get back, no matter what. While we've been here... He's not exactly who I thought he was, and I...” She shrugged and looked up at him. “It doesn't matter. We'll probably be back in our old lives within a week or two.”

“You see him now,” Dravon finished. “ _Truly_ see him. Vereen has opened your eyes.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Have you told him so?”

Buffy ran a hand through her hair. “I don't know what I would say. Or when I would talk to him, anyway. I mean, aside from the night we took the hill, we've barely seen each other longer than it takes to say 'hi' in passing for _weeks_. We're both always busy with other duties, or hanging out with other people...” She brought her eyes up to meet her friend's. “Drav, I think I actually _miss Spike_.”

He opened the tent's wood-framed door. “Summers, go tell him the truck is coming. Take it from there.”

She bit her lower lip for a moment, then stepped through the door, turning left toward the tent Spike had recently been sharing with a couple of enlisted men.

“Good girl.” Dravon grabbed her by her shoulders to turn her right. “Except that he has guard duty on the north side.”

Buffy frowned. “I had a guard shift this afternoon. I didn't see him on the roster.”

“He took Sergeant Traygo's duty. Captain Frederick thinks Tray has been on that leg too much, so she ordered the clerk to reassign two of his duty shifts this week. Over Tray's objections, of course.”

“Didn't you have that exact same 'working too much' argument with Major Bradford after _you_ got shot in the leg?”

Dravon puffed up his chest. “Rasheeni men don't give in to pain.”

“Different species, same macho crap,” she muttered.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you're ...” She paused to find the right word. “Grosha? That's stubborn, right?” On receiving confirmation, she continued, “You're a shar grosha, Drav. And so is Traygo.”

“You sound like Bradford.” He gave her a shove. “Go talk to your vampire, Summers. That's an order.”

*~*~*

Spike's patrol along the north side of the encampment was mostly accomplished by him leaning against a tree, gazing up at the night sky, lost in thought while he listened to his surroundings. He straightened his stance at the first sound of movement behind him. He turned to face the source of the noise, and saw only a small, shadowy figure moving among the trees between himself and the camp. Suspecting the person's identity from their size, he sniffed the air. His theory confirmed, he relaxed back against his tree, and waited for her to join him.

Buffy stood beside him for a few minutes, studying the sky in silence. “I'm going to miss it, I think,” she eventually whispered. “The stars don't look as strange as they used to.”

“Maybe our perspective's different.”

“Maybe.” She took a deep breath. “What we did... It worked. The first supply truck will be here tonight. We should be able to get to a witch soon.”

“Hmm,” was all Spike had to say.

“I never thanked you. For not leaving when you got that map. So thanks. It's been good to have you here. For a lot of reasons.”

“Didn't see the need to rush, is all. Look alright with a bit of a tan, don't I?”

She chuckled. “Actually yeah. And the tiny freckles on your cheeks are kind of cute.”

He looked down at her. “Cute?”

She kept her eyes on the sky. “Don't let it go to your head.”

“I won't.” Spike resumed his stargazing. “When's the last time we did this together?” he asked after a few minutes.

“I don't know. Probably back when we were still regularly sharing a tent, and neither of us could sleep.”

“I've missed it.”

“Me, too.”

The silence resumed, both of them trying to look less vulnerable than they felt, and finding safety in the lack of eye contact.

Spike was the first to find enough courage to continue the conversation. “When we get there, don't go back to your tin soldier.”

“I wasn't planning to.”

He slowly brought his gaze back to her. He studied her profile in the starlight, hoping to see she was using the same subtext he was.

She pretended not to notice. “There's a place you should visit before trying to get a portal. One of their biggest military bases, just outside a city called Port Shelby. That's where they're going to send Polly.”

“You wanna see her after they get her awake?”

“If I can. Mostly, I want you to meet the neurosurgeon.” She shifted her weight, and slowly brought her gaze down to his. “We may not be Frandrey, but putting in some time serving here should be more than enough for Clement to be able to justify doing it. Bradford doesn't think it will be a problem.”

Spike struggled to take this bit of news coolly and casually, though both the plan and her being the one to arrange it made him want to shout in celebration. “So, uh, we'll head out of here with Polly, then?”

“You can, if you want. Dravon says a medical transport is being scheduled for sometime soon.” She sighed and looked back to the sky. “Probably when infantry units start setting up shop around the valley.”

“What about you?”

“They're sending reinforcements, Spike. Not replacements. So I can leave them or leave _with_ them. Leaving them doesn't feel right, so I'm going to stay a while longer.”

“So when the Calanese realize they aren't getting the river _or_ the valley, we hit up Port Shelby on our way to see a witch. Polly might be healed up enough to do the job herself by then.”

She turned to look at him, frowning. “We?”

“Might as well see this through.” He gestured vaguely back toward the camp. “They're a good lot, most of 'em.”

“Yeah. That's pretty much my train of thought. But aren't you in a hurry to get the chip--?”

“And I don't wanna leave you behind,” Spike interrupted. Before she could reply, or he had time to talk himself out of it, he grabbed her by her upper arms and pulled her into a kiss.

She took a step back from him, visibly surprised. “You... Spike... I...” She shook her head, frustrated at the lack of words that seemed to be available to her. “...Ok.”

“Ok?”

“As in, 'Ok, don't leave me behind.'”

It was his turn to look surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She returned the kiss, this time staying in his arms afterward. “Because I don't know if this will still make sense outside of a war zone. I just know it does here.”

“What if it still does when we leave?”

“Things are going to be weird enough when we get back to Terra'bo, Spike. Can we just _not_ add to it anymore tonight?”

“Fair enough.” He pulled back from her, but let his hand linger at the back of her waist, holding her loosely. “Stand watch with me 'til the truck comes?”

“Why did you think I came out here? Just to look at the stars?”

*~*~*

_Five months ago_

_Sunnydale_

“I don't think you dragged me up here just to stargaze,” Angel said, breaking another lengthy silence. “What's on your mind?”

“Honestly? I wanted to get you alone, to talk about Buffy's people. You know them better than I do.”

“Most of them. Tara seems nice, but I can't get a read on Anya.”

“Blunt, honest, and scary,” Faith summarized. “The first time she got _me_ alone, she made it very clear that if I so much as _looked_ at Xander the wrong way, she'd be calling up some old vengeance demon friends.”

“I can't say I blame her. Your history with him--”

“I'm not saying it's not justified. It's just scary as hell. That girl's so old, she probably knows methods of torture that _your_ generation thought were ancient and barbaric. I don't even wanna wave hello to Xander without witnesses.”

Angel chuckled. “But you have to admit, her keeping you on your toes is a small price to pay.”

“She's not the only one. Willow's probably looking for an excuse to turn me into a newt or something.”

“Faith, you outed her to her friends behind her back. If I were her, I'd have already done it. At least for a week or two.”

“It was an accident!” she objected. “Besides, I think she was looking for an excuse before that. She doesn't trust me.”

“Can you blame her?”

“Well, no, but--”

“But nothing. That's justified, too.” He studied the sky for a few minutes, organizing his thoughts. “Redemption looks different for everyone, Faith. For you, it might look like working off your debt to society while Buffy's away, and earning back the trust of her friends at the same time. It's not going to get easy anytime soon. The best you can hope for is that she gets back quickly, and still wants to stand beside you while you do it.”

“She isn't coming back,” Faith whispered in the direction of the stars.

“Don't sound so sure. She's tough. She can survive whatever that dimension throws at her.” Angel frowned at the silence he received in reply. “You don't really think she's dead, do you?”

The next silence was a little too long for comfort. “Yeah, I do.”

“No one else does. Not even Giles, and he's not the most optimistic person I've ever met, especially on the topic of the lifespan of slayers.”

“Giles...” Faith shook her head, declining to share her thoughts on the watcher. She abruptly climbed to her feet and brushed herself off. “I'm gonna call it a night. See you tomorrow?”

“For more stargazing?”

“Patrol,” she said quickly, straightening her shoulders. “Can't spend every night in B's break room, you know.”

“Yeah,” he said, standing to join her. “Or you might accidentally tell me what's really on your mind.”

“Exactly.”

Angel found himself standing alone in the clearing before he could come up with a reply.

*~*~*

When Faith got home, the house was in darkness. She climbed the stairs quietly, and slipped into Joyce's room, where she gave the occupant of the bed a gentle shake on her shoulder.

“Hmm?” Joyce opened her eyes. “Faith? Is something wrong?”

“I need to talk to you.” The slayer took a seat on the edge of the bed. “I think I should tell Giles.”

“I thought we agreed--”

“Just him. Not the rest of 'em. He won't flip out like they would.”

Joyce sat up against the headboard, rubbing her eyes. “What's brought this on?”

“I want him to trust me, Joyce. He's been trying harder than any of 'em to give me a second chance, and I kinda feel like...” She shrugged uncertainly. “Maybe I'm letting him down by not trusting him back?”

“Faith, honey, I know you want to make things work with everyone, but I'm not sure--”

“I am. Just tell me you'll think about it?”

Joyce nodded slowly. “I'll think about it. Now go to bed. It's late, and you have a GED prep class tomorrow.”

“After I read it again.” Faith pulled open the nightstand drawer, but hesitated before reaching inside. “Can I?”

“Of course.” Joyce slid back down to her pillow. “And thank you for asking.”

Faith took the envelope, closed the drawer, and whispered “Goodnight” to Joyce before making her way to her room, which was still filled with the belongings of the previous occupant, clutter recently worsened by the addition of boxes brought from Stevenson Hall.

She kicked off her boots, turned on the bedside lamp, and reached for the faded plush pig who had been standing guard over the boxes before settling down to read. She tried to imagine herself in Joyce's place when the letter had arrived nearly two weeks before, falling through a tiny purple portal above the kitchen island, coming perilously close to the mixing bowl before landing on the egg carton beside it.

The first thing Joyce would have seen was the word 'Mom' scrawled across the front of the envelope. The second thing she would have seen was the postscript written across the back.

' _P.P.S. We're with the coven elders now, and I was about to have this letter sent, but I just found out the time distortion is way more severe than I'd thought. I've been gone somewhere around two weeks to you. Isn't that crazy? I'm still going to have this letter sent through now, because I don't want you to be left worrying too long. I hope it will make sense to you. Love you. -B'_

Faith read the postscript twice before sliding the letter out of the envelope and gently unfolding it, mindful of Joyce's need to keep it in good condition for as long as possible.

_'Dear Mom,_

_I'm so sorry...'_


	11. Other Mothers

_**Chapter 11: Other Mothers** _

_Today_

_Sunnydale_

Buffy came to a sudden stop at the foot of her mother's driveway, as the reality of what was before her began to sink in.

Xander bumped into her before he realized she was no longer moving. “Come on, Buff. The lights are on and her car's in the driveway.”

Spike looked from the house to his Katyan. “Uh, why don't you two let us take it from here?”

Anya grabbed Xander's arm when he tried to object, attempting to pull him away. “Good idea. We'll see you tomorrow.”

“But--”

“You'll see Buffy again 'fore the witch sends us home,” Spike interrupted. “Now, go.”

Xander let Anya pull him back a step. “Home?” he whispered. “You don't really mean that, do you? Do _you_ mean that _,_ Buffster?”

Buffy's only reply was to whisper, “Goodnight, friends,” while still staring at the house.

Spike watched the other couple walk away before turning back to join Buffy in studying the house. “Looks like how I remember it.”

“Me, too. And it feels like it shouldn't. It feels like... like walking into a time capsule. Nothing's different. It's like we left yesterday.”

“Six months.” He shrugged. “Near enough to yesterday, I suppose.”

“Do you think she'll recognize me?”

“Love, there's a reason you still get ribbed about looking like a kid. When you're not in grey, you look just the same as you did when we left.”

“I didn't mean my looks.”

Spike sighed. “I don't know. Not the most objective observer. You're still the same woman to me, but...”

“But it's all been gradual for you. It will be all at once for her.”

“Sudden or not, she'll still be thrilled to see you. Proud and doting, and all of that. She'll like what she sees, Katyan. I promise.”

Buffy nodded slowly, and finally tore her eyes away from the house to give him a half smile. “Well, most of what she sees, anyway.”

“Hey! She liked me!”

“She liked you when you were drinking her hot chocolate. That's not the same thing as liking you when you're sleeping with her daughter.”

He pretended he was about to walk away. “You know, it's a nice enough evening for a stroll through town. Maybe visit a few memory lanes?”

Buffy laughed and pulled him back to her side. “What? Are you afraid she'll have a fire axe under the couch?”

“She might. _You_ keep a sword under ours.”

“Maybe not for much longer. It might have to relocate to the bedroom with the rest of the weapons soon.”

“If we're lucky.”

“If we're lucky,” she echoed in a whisper. “Thomas thinks we will be.”

“Thomas is an aging paper pusher who doesn't know much about anything that doesn't have Navy brass on its shoulders.”

“That's pretty much what I said. ...But I want him to be right.”

“I'd sooner hang my hat on Melissa's opinion, if I had the choice,” Spike murmured. “That old girl always had her finger on the pulse of everything around her.”

“Yeah. I knew she'd have to retire eventually, but not having her instincts and wisdom to fall back on... I miss her.”

“What say we pay her a quick visit once we get this mess sorted out? I'm not headed up to the mountains for another week or so. Where's she living now?”

“She's back in Pendle Harbor, actually. Her daughter moved up there last year.”

He let his gaze drift back to Joyce's house as a means of avoiding eye contact. “Suppose there are worse places,” he whispered. “...Probably.”

She took his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Hey, I thought we were talking about Mel, not us.”

“She always had her finger on _our_ pulse, too, love.” He rolled his eyes at her raised eyebrow. “You know what I mean.”

“Can we please just deal with one hurricane at a time, Spike? 'Cause I'm pretty sure 'Hi Mom, I'm home' is already more than I can handle tonight.”

“We don't have to.”

“Yeah, we do. ...Even if she _does_ have a fire axe under the couch.”

“Thanks, Katyan. I love you, too.”

*~*~*

_Five years, six months ago_

_Pendle Harbor Frandrey Base, New Salem Territory_

“I should have known,” came a familiar voice from the outer office doorway.

Melissa Roth, senior civilian aide to the Naval Liaison, looked up from the paperwork she was sorting to find her boss' Leikat looking across the room to the open inner office, where the lieutenant was bent over her laptop. She cleared her throat to draw his attention. “Good evening, William.”

He plastered on a flirtatious smile and came over to her desk to kiss her wrinkled cheek. “Good evening, pet.” He took her hand and lifted it, hinting for her to rise to her feet. When she complied, he kicked her desk chair away and led her in a brief tango around the office, humming as they went.

“You crazy, foolish--” She was cut off when his decision to drop her into a dip sent her into a fit of girlish giggles.

Spike pulled his impromptu dance partner upright and kissed her hand, meeting the eyes of the liaison as he released it.

She had come to her office doorway to watch them dance, and was smiling as she shook her head at him. “You're insane.”

“As I tried to tell him,” Melissa said as her giggles faded. She made a concerted effort to look dignified and serious as she walked back to her desk to put her chair back in its place. “He has no respect for workplace decorum.”

“And you love every minute of it,” her boss accused.

Melissa sat down at her desk and returned her focus to her paperwork, still struggling not to smile. “I said no such thing.”

“Yuh-huh. Sure.” The liaison nodded for her Leikat to join her in the inner office and closed the door behind them.

He perched on the corner of her desk. “So how've you been?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You don't call, you don't write, you don't come home...”

“I told you we had to work late tonight, to finish the quarterly reports.”

“No, love, you didn't.” He locked his eyes on hers. “A lot of that, lately.”

She made a brisk, business-like march back to her desk and resumed her seat. “What? Me doing my job?”

He hopped off the corner of the desk and turned to lean over it, forcing her back into direct eye contact. “You not telling me... _anything_.”

She held his gaze. “I'm sorry I forgot to tell you I would be late tonight. Ok? Are we good?”

“I sometimes wonder,” he murmured as he straightened his stance.

“If you have something on your mind, Leikat, just say it.”

Spike shrugged. “Alright, then. I think you're letting this bloody job take over your life. Lately, it's getting to where I don't know what you look like out of uniform and out from behind that damned desk.”

She looked like she wanted to say something in reply, but swallowed the impulse. “Do you feel better for saying that?”

“Depends. Are you actually listening?”

She sighed and stood up to come around the desk. “Yeah. I hear you.”

He pulled her into a kiss. “Then blow off the reports and come home tonight. I'm shipping out with Persh and the boys again tomorrow, remember? Likely to be gone at least a week.”

“I can't. You know I can't. I have a job to do.”

He shook his head at her and started toward the door. “This isn't exactly a sacred calling, Buffy. Maybe you oughta keep that in mind.”

She watched him leave in silence, murmuring to herself after the door closed, “Yeah, that's kinda the problem.” Before she could fall too deeply into a sulk, her eyes lit up with realization. “Oh! I almost forgot!” She snatched a folded sheet of paper from her desk and rushed out, hoping to catch him before he left the building.

She found Spike had gone no further than the outer office. He was leaning over Melissa's desk, holding a take out menu from the collection they kept on the side of one of the file cabinets. “You want chips or a side salad with it?”

“What are you doing?” Buffy asked, interrupting their conversation.

“Getting food for you lot, maybe cutting the chances you work yourselves to death.”

She broke into a soft smile. “I don't deserve you.”

“Obviously.” He gave her a wink and left the menu with Melissa to go to his Leikat. “Thought maybe you'd get home that much sooner, if you didn't have to stop to fetch your own supper. The usual from Carver's alright?”

“Yeah. That'd be great.” She held out the folded paper. “But I have bad news. This came through a few hours ago.”

His easy smile dropped away as he took the paper. He looked at it without unfolding it, knowing instinctively what it was. “Where?”

“Port Shelby. Six weeks.”

“Chea.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Alright, I'll call Persh, tell him they'll have to go without me. I'll head down to start house-hunting day after tomorrow.”

“No, go if you want to. Next week should be pretty easy for me, since the quarterlies will be out of the way. I can run down there for a day or two.”

“And take the first place you see, because you don't have time to give the town a proper look?”

“Spike, we _have_ help.” She unfolded the paper in his hand. “Look who signed the orders.”

He frowned at the familiar signature. “I thought Pete was gonna retire?”

“He's decided to stick it out for four more years, kind of a last ditch effort to make general. And if they're putting him in charge of joint operations at a big base like Port Shelby, even with his record, I'd say he has a decent chance. I'm pretty sure I can sweet talk him into helping us find an apartment. If not this coming week, then the week after. And if Pete's busy, Della's _right there_ beside him, as always. You _know_ she'll help us out.”

He folded the orders and offered them back to her. “If you're sure we're not gonna end up scrounging for a place at the last minute...”

“Go.” She took the paper. “Kick some ass and have fun. _Somebody's_ got to do it. I'll have the ball rolling on the move by the time you get home.”

“Alright, love, if--”

“Lieutenant Summers, I found that form you wanted in the file room. 4562-A, right?”

Spike turned to find a curvy, young brunette walking into the office. “And who is _this_?” he asked with a none-too-subtle leer.

Buffy gave him an equally subtle elbow to the ribs as she stepped forward to take the offered form. “Yeah, that's the right one. Thanks, Jennifer.”

But she had already lost the young woman's attention to the man beside her. “Hi,” Jennifer said with a blushing smile. “I'm Jenny. It's nice to meet you.”

Seeing what was happening, Melissa snatched the take out menu from her desk and waved it in Spike's direction. “Side salad. Citrus vinaigrette.”

Spike took the offered menu, but kept his eyes on Jennifer, clearly enjoying increasing the red tone of her cheeks with a simple look.

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. “Spike, this is Jennifer Crowfoot, my new junior aide.”

“Welcome to the team, pet.” He gestured with the menu. “What do you like from Carver's?”

“Oh! We're ordering dinner?” Jennifer hurried over to her desk to pick up her purse.

Spike followed her, waving away the wallet she pulled out. “It's on me.” He shifted beside her to give her a clear view of the menu. “What do you like?”

“Um... pastrami on rye?”

Jennifer leaned closer to him than Melissa thought she needed to, but the senior aide's glance at Buffy for confirmation was met with only an expression of barely restrained amusement from the liaison.

“With chips, if it's not too much trouble.”

“Not a bit of it. You'll have it in half an hour.” He gestured to her chair as he moved away. “Now you best get to back to work. A girl like you shouldn't waste her whole evening stuck behind a desk. _You_ oughta be out dancing.”

When Spike had left the office, Melissa again glanced at Buffy, finding all traces of mirth gone from her expression. Before she could say anything, the liaison retreated to the inner office, closing the door behind her.

“He's gorgeous,” Jennifer murmured dreamily, still looking out into the hall.

“He's the lieutenant's Leikat,” Melissa snapped. “And those spreadsheets aren't going to finish themselves.”

*~*~*

_Today_

_Sunnydale_

Buffy raised her hand to knock on the front door, then dropped it to the knob, instead. It turned easily. “It's not locked,” she whispered. “Do you think I should?”

“She's not gonna call the police on you, love.”

“Ok. Here goes.” She took a deep breath and opened the door.

They stepped slowly into the foyer, looking around in wonder as memories flooded back to them. It was the sound of Spike closing the door behind them that alerted Joyce to their presence.

“Faith! You're home early!” came a cheerful call from the kitchen. “Get in here and help me eat these brownies, so I'll feel less guilty for making them!”

Buffy froze at the sound of her mother's voice.

“Faith?”

A gentle nudge at her back from Spike forced a word out of her. “Mom?”

There was no sound from the kitchen for a moment. Then, slowly, a utensil clattered against a plate, and the soft footsteps of a woman in her stocking feet came in their direction. When Joyce caught sight of them, she stopped again. The name came to her lips in a low whisper, as if she were afraid to say it out loud. “Buffy.”

The two women met in a hug in the middle of the hall, a hug long, intense, and tearful enough that Spike had ample time to wander into the living room, find a tissue box, and bring it to them before either of them had noticed his movement.

When Joyce finally pulled back, she tugged a tissue from the offered box with a murmured “thank you” while still staring at her daughter. “You look so grown up!”

“It's just the uniform,” Buffy assured her. “Out of it, I still get ID'd for liquor.”

Spike handed his Katyan a tissue. “I've seen her get carded for _beer,_ and that's barely regulated. No one believes she's twenty-eight 'til they see proof. Slayer healing slows the aging a bit, best we can guess.”

“Twenty-eight,” Joyce repeated. “It's really been that long for you? I feel like... like I've missed _everything_.” She grabbed Buffy in another tight hug. “I can't believe you came back! I thought...”

“It wasn't by choice, Mom.”

Joyce pulled back again. “Willow?” On receiving nods of confirmation, she sighed. “Faith was afraid of that.” She bit her lower lip. “Which I guess means you aren't here to stay.”

Buffy shifted uncomfortably. “We kinda have lives to get back to, you know?”

A stray tear was wiped away as her mother made a valiant effort to regain her emotional equilibrium. “Of course. I understand. We're just going to have to make the most of this visit.” She waved toward the coat hooks behind them. “Take off your jackets and get comfortable. I hope you're in the mood for brownies.”

Buffy grabbed another quick hug before stepping away to unbutton her uniform jacket and remove her sword belt. Spike turned to follow her, but was stopped by Joyce's hand on his shoulder. He turned back to find himself being wrapped in an embrace.

“'Ello, Joyce,” he said through a chuckle, trying to mask his surprise. “How've you been?”

“Tonight? Fantastic.” She released him, but grabbed his hands to keep him facing her. “I like your hair better this way.”

He nodded to Buffy. “So does she. That's why I quit bleaching it.”

“Good call. Should I make us some hot chocolate?”

“Hot chocolate _and_ brownies? You're going to put us into chocolaty overload.” Buffy quirked her mouth to the side. “Which, when you think about it, isn't a bad idea. Rough day. If it's not going to be booze, it had better be chocolate.”

Joyce pulled away from Spike and started toward the kitchen. “I think I have a bottle of Bailey's around here somewhere.”

Spike shrugged out of his jacket and went to hang it up. “Maybe I dragged the wrong Summers woman through that portal...”

“Very funny. Do you want _me_ to reach under the couch, Katyan?” Buffy grabbed his hand to pull him toward the kitchen with her. “Just tell me you have your phone on you.”

“I don't think it'll work here, love.”

“Not for making calls. For photos. I want pictures of us with her. And you _know_ she's going to lose her mind when she sees your home screen.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought it out of sleep mode, lighting up the screen in question. He smiled reflexively at the image. “Yeah. She will.”


	12. Border Lines

 

_**Chapter 12: Border Lines** _

_Eight years, seven months ago_

_Somewhere in the Hedgren River valley_

“There you are!” came a voice from the side of the armory tent.

Buffy looked up to find a grinning Rasheeni man walking around the tent to join her, where she was sharpening an array of bladed weapons in the morning sun. “How's it going, Tray?”

“Good, now that I've tracked you down. Didn't you hear the mess bell?”

“I wasn't hungry.”

Traygo pushed aside a couple of daggers to perch on the edge of the workbench. “That wasn't a meal bell, Buffy. That was a meeting bell.” He leaned over to take the large, flat-bladed axe from her hand and place it on the bench beside him. “Your little friend will still be here when you get back, I promise.”

“Very funny. What's Pete gathering everyone for, anyway?”

“It's a good thing you aren't Frandrey,” he said, shaking his head. “ _I_ couldn't get away with calling him that.”

She gave him a wide grin. “It helps that he likes me. A lot more than he likes _your_ crazy ass.”

“I'm not the only one here who's crazy, and that axe knows it.” Traygo took her hand to pull both of them to their feet. “Come on. Let's see what the colonel has on his mind.”

“I hope he keeps it short,” Buffy said as they sauntered toward the mess tent. “I had night watch, and I'm starting to get sleepy.”

“So naturally you're spending the morning sharpening weapons. _Who's_ crazy?”

“Shut up, Tray.”

When they walked into the mess tent, they found it packed, as nearly the entire unit was present. There were no seats available, and even the serving line was occupied by people leaning against it, much to the chagrin of the camp cooks, who were sitting on their kitchen stools nearby and throwing mild glares at the leaning soldiers.

Buffy caught sight of Spike beckoning to them, saving her from trying to find a place on her own. He was leaning against one of the wooden support sections of the tent wall opposite the kitchen, and there was a little space on either side of him. She grabbed Tray's hand to lead him through the packed tent, releasing him when they reached Spike, and took the available spaces.

“Thanks. I really didn't want to have to just stand. I've been up all night. North side watch.”

“Me, too. Infirmary duty.” Spike smirked. “Nurses are getting spoiled, I think. They don't have to do many wound checks with me around. They just send me on a walk through the place, and I come back with a list of who needs dressings changed, whose wound smells a touch off, and whatnot.”

“It doesn't hurt that you couldn't catch that flu that went around,” Traygo added. “I think that's when the medics figured out you were useful for more than guard duty.” He shook his head. “Worst thing that's happened to me all war.”

Buffy leaned forward to look around Spike to Traygo. “You didn't _get_ the flu.”

“No, I just got a bunch of Spike's guard shifts when they started putting him in the infirmary.”

“Also, you got _shot_.”

“Guard duty's worse. Too quiet.”

As a second bell announced the beginning of the meeting, Buffy gave Traygo an exasperated shake of her head, then leaned back against the wall, where she found Spike's right hand waiting to meet the back of her waist. She threw him a small smile as she settled against it.

Corporal Shine came into the mess, carrying an empty crate. She set it upside down near one end of the tent, then looked around for a place to join the rapidly quieting crowd. A wave from Traygo brought her to the wooden section of the wall, where she found no room to lean. Undeterred, she leaned up against Spike's left shoulder and Traygo's right arm. “The colonel has good news,” she whispered to her friends. “But he wouldn't tell me what.”

“Dravon knows something, too,” Spike whispered. “Saw him coming out of the command tent a bit ago, looking almost chipper.”

“That is _not_ a word I associate with the Lieutenant.” Traygo looked around. “Where is he, anyway?”

Buffy pointed to a table near the crate. “Sitting next to Bradford with most of the other officers. I don't see Captain Frederick, though.”

“Dr. Bette has the morning shift at the infirmary,” Spike explained just as Lt. Colonel Samuels came into the mess tent, ending all the whispered conversations.

He climbed up on the crate to make himself more visible. It creaked loudly under his weight. “Fair morning, everyone.”

The crate creaked again, sending a ripple of chuckles through the assembled troops.

The colonel's gaze landed squarely on his personal guard. “Shine, I thought I asked for a _strong_ crate.”

She tried to stifle her giggles. “Yes, sir. But there's only so much beer and whiskey any crate can hold, sir.”

Samuels glanced down at the paunch above his belt and slowly stepped off the crate.

The mess tent erupted in laughter.

“I'm glad to see I've caught you all in a good mood,” the colonel said as the laughter died down. “But please remember we'll all be back in civilization one of these days, and some military discipline _will_ be enforced.” He threw a playful glare at Shine. “Starting with _you_.”

“Yes, sir,” Shine gasped between giggles. “I'm sure it will be, sir.”

The colonel clapped his hands once to regain everyone's attention. “I have a few announcements. First, tomorrow our visiting friends from 7th Infantry will be receiving orders to go back to their own unit.” He paused for the cheering reaction from the men and women in question to die down. “Thank you all for your support these last six weeks. I know being away from your own squads in such circumstances was no one's first choice of duty, but with our numbers so depleted, we needed you. You have our gratitude.”

A round of applause went out to the soldiers from the 7th, led by the colonel himself.

“Next, I have a bit of news from a Captain Clement at Port Shelby Medical.” Samuels paused to take a look around at all the faces tensed with a mix of worry and anticipation, then he slowly broke into a smile. “Polly Jessup is awake, and expected to make a full recovery!”

The volume of the cheer that went up from the members of the 4th Scouts made the visitors from the 7th Infantry turn and stare at them.

Samuels lowered his tone to something that was as ominous as he could make it through his own wide grin. “Dravon, Summers, and Spike, she'd like a word with you.”

Again the soldiers from the 7th looked confused, as laughter filled the mess tent.

When the crowd quieted again, the colonel pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “You'll want this one verbatim, friends.” He cleared his throat before he began reading. “'By order of Her Majesty the Queen, the Frandrey Council Office of the Coven Elders, and General George Chen, Wartime Commander of Her Majesty's Frandrey Forces, the 4th Forward Scouting and Medical Support unit is awarded Special Commendation for exemplary courage and valor in the face of extreme circumstances.' It goes on for a while longer, mostly congratulating us for not getting killed or captured when we probably should have. If you want to read the whole of it, there will be copies in your personnel files for the rest of your lives. You can have a look when you're assigned to your next commands.”

The cheer everyone was readying to give for the commendation as soon as he stopped talking suddenly became a confused silence.

“Ah, yes. I suppose I should have told you the other news first: Friends, they've signed a new border treaty. We're going home.”

Buffy felt Spike's hand abruptly drop away from her, but she was so stunned, she barely noticed.

In the eruption of cheering, shouting, hugs, calls for celebratory drinks, and general chaos that followed, the foursome sharing the section of wood paneling were separated. Buffy was just releasing Major Bradford from a hug when she was grabbed by Charlie, the sentry she'd met the night of their arrival.

“Aren't you glad you stuck it out with us, Summers? I sure am!” He picked her up and spun her around as he hugged her, then dropped a kiss on her cheek before tackling the next person he saw in another exuberant hug.

Buffy looked up to gauge where she'd been dropped in the riotous tent, and caught Spike's eye while Dravon was giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder and Pete Samuels was whispering in his ear.

He looked like Buffy thought she must have looked: like the only unhappy people in camp.

As the impromptu party spilled out of the mess tent, Buffy followed, breaking away at the first opportunity, in search of some solitude.

Nearly all of the blades had been sheathed and returned to their cases by the time Traygo walked around to the back of the armory tent to reclaim his previous perch on the edge of the workbench.

“Spike's looking for you.”

Buffy continued packing the weapons without acknowledging him.

“I didn't tell him where you'd be. I thought you might want a few minutes.” He studied her tear-streaked face. “And maybe to talk to someone else first.”

She didn't look up at him. “What is there to say? It's over. We're going home. ...We're _all_ going home.”

“ _Is_ it over?”

She gestured vaguely toward the party noises coming from the center of the camp. “It kinda sounds like it.”

“That's not what I'm asking, and I think you know it.” Traygo sighed at her continued reluctance to express her thoughts. “Alright, friend. Don't talk to me. Just listen. You know my Leikat is a bartender, right?”

“Tray, half the people in this valley know your Leikat is a bartender, and some of them are Calanese.”

He grinned. “I can't help it if she's a catch worth talking about.” He straightened his expression. “Say I got stationed in some backwater where there were a lot of temperance types around, so not many bars in business, and she couldn't find work. She'd be miserable there, stuck sitting at home, and I'd be miserable because she was. I could keep going to work every morning, pretending everything is alright, and let us be miserable, or I could talk to the brass about getting me a transfer, and get us both out of a place that's not good for her, and not good for us as a couple.”

Buffy frowned. “Are you saying I need to find another Hellmouth when I get home?”

“I'm saying you should talk to the brass about a transfer.”

“I'm not a soldier, Tray. I'm a slayer. It's kind of a Lone Wolf thing.”

He looked her up and down. “I don't know, Summers. You look a lot like a soldier to me. And there's brass around you can talk to. Brass you're chummy enough with to call 'Pete.' Brass I've personally heard drop hints about trying to get you citizenship so he can get you into uniform.”

“That was the whiskey talking.”

“Considering it was coming from the man who's personally responsible for every life you saved when you took out that signal station squad, I don't think it was the whiskey.”

“So maybe he's just as crazy as you are. I'm from Terra'bo, Tray, and I have to go home. I have a mother, and friends, and college, and a sacred duty to get back to.”

“Then why are you still here?” he challenged. “And why did you look like someone had taken the ground out from under your feet when the colonel announced the treaty?”

She snapped closed the last case. “You know why. Help me carry these in.”

Carrying two cases each, they walked around to the front of the armory tent and inside, where they slid them onto their shelves. They were just about to walk back out when Traygo put a hand on Buffy's shoulder to stop her.

“There's another option, one I didn't mention. I could part ways with my Leikat, set her free to do what she loves while I stayed in that backwater. I didn't mention it because...” He shrugged.

“Because you wouldn't actually consider doing it,” she finished. “I know. You'd be lost without her. I figured out months ago that she's the only thing keeping you even marginally sane.”

He laughed that off, unable to argue. “So what are you going to do?”

She bit her lip. “Technically, there's a fourth option. You could both tell all those teetotalers where to shove their opinions, open a new bar in the middle of town for your Leikat to run, and live how you want to.”

Traygo shook his head. “I don't know about that one, Buffy. That sounds like me making the decisions, and her taking the risks. If someone doesn't like the situation, and blows up the bar, it's not _my_ life on the line.”

“Yeah. You're probably right.” Buffy leaned back against a stack of rifle cases. “Do you think she could be talked into taking the risks, though? Like, if you promised to watch her back, and put a good security system in the bar, and... You know what? I think I'm done with this metaphor.” She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the cases. “I don't know, Tray. About anything. I don't even know if I'll still... I mean if it's just this place, and this situation... When we get home, will I still...”

“Be in love with a bartender in a temperance town?”

“I thought we were killing the metaphor?”

“You remind me of my brother.”

Buffy opened her eyes. “ _What?!_ ”

“He can talk freely all day and night about any topic you want to name ...except his emotions. Anything too close to his feelings, you have to come at it sideways, or he won't open up. Not even drunk.”

“Yeah...” She closed her eyes again. “So maybe I'm a little like your brother.”

“Which is why we're keeping the metaphor.” Traygo leaned against the shelves across from her. “There's no one here but a bunch of weapons and a fellow who's more likely to die by his own hand than spill a secret.”

“I wish you were joking, but I've seen you work. You really _are_ going to blow yourself up one of these days. You disarm explosive devices like it's a _game_.”

“So long as I keep on winning, it doesn't matter how I play, right?”

“That's not how games work, Tray.”

“But it seems to be how bombs work. ...So far.”

Their chuckles faded into a lengthy silence that wasn't broken until Buffy let loose a heavy sigh. “Tray, I think I'm in love with a bartender.”

“I noticed.”

“And we have to go home to Teetotaler City soon.” The next sigh shuddered with barely restrained tears. “Where I have no idea how to make it work. There just aren't any good options.”

“I picked up on that, too.”

“Oh, it's way worse than you know. There was another bartender, and it went really, really badly. For _everyone_. And _this_ bartender doesn't have a sterling reputation with the locals to begin with.”

“Watered drinks?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Let's go with that.” Buffy shook her head against the rifle cases as the tears threatened to fall. “I don't know how I got into this mess, and I can't see a way out that doesn't suck.”

Traygo's hand took hers and pulled her forward until she landed against him, her cheek to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and let her cry for a couple of minutes before whispering, “You're a lot smaller than my brother.”

*~*~*

_Eight years, six months ago  
Port Shelby Joint Services Base_

The Royal Intelligence Service's Port Shelby offices occupied the fourth floor of an old administration building near the northwestern corner of the base. Like many buildings of its age, the emergency stairs were on the exterior, resulting in a series of small balconies at each landing. When Lieutenant Dravon stepped out of the RIS's stairway door, he found Major John Bradford leaning against the railing in front of him, enjoying the view of the neighboring city, and Spike sitting at the top of the stairs to the third floor door, fidgeting with the temporary access card he'd been given to the medical center at the other end of the base.

Dravon joined his old friend at the rail. “They finally finished grilling Tray for the day. Charlie just went in.”

“You sound worried.”

“Charlie's a fine fellow, but he's not built for subterfuge.”

“Don't see much reason to lie,” Spike threw in. “It was me and Buffy did it, and we're no one's soldiers. Won't hurt anyone for you lot to blame the off-worlders in the press, then send 'em packing.”

Bradford laughed. “I wish it were that simple, but the colonel insists that it shouldn't be.”

“Yeah, they're warming up for another round right now.” Dravon jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the hallway he'd just left. “I'm counting on Della and Tray to keep the shouting to a minimum.”

“Pete's gonna lose. He knows her well enough to know that.”

“What the colonel knows is that he's responsible for the actions of his unit,” Dravon corrected. “He's not one to shirk.” He turned from the rail to give Spike a nudge with his boot. “That includes you two.”

“No, it doesn't. You know she's gonna confess to cooking up the whole bloody thing, and Charlie's likely to say outright Pete had no means of stopping her. The only way she could be talked round to lying about it would be...” Spike held up the card he held.

“If you didn't already have that, and Clement's assurance he'd do the surgery,” Bradford finished. “It's funny, I didn't think she'd go to such lengths for you when I first met you.”

“She wouldn't have, John,” Dravon murmured. “A lot's changed since then.”

“So I gathered. But I've been wondering why.”

Spike turned to throw a glare in Bradford's direction. “Quit fishing, Doc. It's not like that.”

“It is,” Dravon assured his friend. “The only thing I haven't been able to figure out is how you kept it under wraps when you weren't even sharing a tent for months.”

Spike jumped to his feet and turned to face them directly. “I am _not_ shagging the slayer, alright?”

Bradford and Dravon traded looks. “Yet,” the former whispered around a knowing smile.

“If you knew a bloody thing about our lives, you'd know how ridiculous that sounds.”

“I know who kept you fed when rations were low,” Bradford said casually, turning back to lean on the railing and look out into the city. “I know getting you to Clement has been high on her priority list since the first time I discussed it with her.”

“And _I_ know your relationship wasn't half as acrimonious in Terra'bo as you'd like us all to think,” Dravon added. To Bradford he explained, “A novice witch they know once accidentally made them nearly the Terra'bo equivalent of Katyan. Spike mentioned it out of nowhere, and it caused Buffy to blush.”

“She did _not_ blush.”

Dravon gestured in the general direction of the medical center. “Shall we ask Polly? I believe she said she'd be in physical therapy this afternoon.”

“Polly was half out of it.”

“She was aware enough to ask about you when she woke up, and remember you when we visited her. She'll remember that blush, and you bringing up the matter unprompted. ...As if it had been on your mind.”

Spike flashed amber eyes at his friend. “Are you finished, Drav?”

“Not quite.”

Bradford looked worriedly at the irritated vampire. “Maybe you should be.”

Dravon only smiled knowingly. “John, some of the New Salem folks still practice Terra'bo ways, don't they?”

“Yes, but not many.”

“What do they call taking a lifemate?”

“Marriage, or 'getting married.' Instead of a trial, they have a ceremony, called a wedding, vowing that they will be spouses before their family and friends.”

“But they don't call each other 'spouse,' do they?”

Bradford frowned. “Why do I get the feeling you know the answers to these questions?”

“Because Spike used a phrase that night I didn't know, and Polly's explanation left me curious. I asked some folks about those words and rituals back at camp -some time later, so they wouldn't connect it to the pair of off-world strays I'd brought in. It seems like the words humans use are 'husband' for a man and 'wife' for a woman. For a man to call a woman he has not married 'my wife' would speak of some wish or intent, wouldn't it? It's at least a bit possessive. In fact, it sounds like Leikat, to my ear.”

Bradford's frown turned toward Spike as he picked up on the implication. “Uh, yes. I suppose it would sound that way...”

Dravon crossed his arms over his chest and locked his eyes on Spike. “So exactly how long _have_ you been in love with her?”

Spike stepped up onto the landing and flung open the door. “So much for enjoying one of my last days of sunshine,” he grumbled as he went back inside.

Dravon fell against the railing in laughter as the door slammed shut.

Bradford sighed. “He's going to kill you for prying, friend. And if he doesn't, she might. You really are too smart for your own good.”

“Oh, I don't think he'll say a word to her about this. If he did, he'd have to admit I'm right. Whatever spell it was that made them Leikat was clearly on his mind, and it wasn't because the event was recent, or the friend who was with them that night would have known about it.”

“Oh.” Bradford blinked. “I didn't know there was someone else there.”

“You've heard Buffy talk about Faith?”

“The other vampire slayer? I understand her presence at the Gateway to be the reason Buffy thought staying here for a while would be acceptable in Terra'bo.”

“It is. It's also the reason the colonel thinks he can talk her into staying here permanently. What did you think was the _real_ reason he's been fighting her so hard about taking the blame for Carabon Hill? Pete Samuels can be a pragmatist when the situation calls for it, John. He knows the argument Spike and Buffy are putting up about taking the heat and telling the press they were returned to Terra'bo as exiles is the smartest and simplest way of making all of this go away without ruining any careers. But if he can take the blow to his own career instead, sending them back will be an _option,_ not a requirement _._ ”

Bradford shook his head. “He's insane.”

“He's right, though, to think she'd make a fine officer, especially if he can maneuver her into a Joint Services post. There aren't many of you humans who don't hesitate to stare down a Rasheeni officer in a confrontation. Take it from a fellow who knows. She'd be a boon to the Frandrey in Joint Services.”

“If Samuels can talk her into it.”

Dravon nodded to the door Spike had slammed closed. “A vampire Leikat who likes the sunshine might help to sway her.”


	13. Facing Homeward

_**Chapter 13: Facing Homeward** _

_Four months, three weeks ago_

_Sunnydale_

Joyce noticed her guest's pensive expression as she escorted him into her living room. “What's bothering you, Rupert?”

“Aside from Faith asking for a private meeting not twenty-four hours after Angel was recalled to Los Angeles?”

She shook her head as they sat down. “This isn't about Angel.”

“Are you certain? We need every tool at our disposal to keep her on track. As much as I loathe his presence, he is undoubtedly...”

“A tool?” Faith offered on her way into the room. “Yeah, he has his moments.” She flopped down on the couch beside Joyce. “I'm good, Giles. I don't need Ange to hang around and babysit.”

“You clearly need _some_ form of supervision, to insist upon meeting here when you know quite well I have made a point of not invading Joyce's privacy more than absolutely necessary.”

Joyce smiled at the girl beside her. “If I can handle _her,_ you're no problem, I promise.” Her expression straightened as she addressed the watcher. “ _I_ insisted we have this discussion here, if we were going to have it at all. In part for privacy, and in part so that I didn't have to take something out of the house.” Her eyes drifted to her desk, where a certain envelope had been placed for the evening. “It's... fragile. And important. Normally, I keep it upstairs, hidden away from possible guests...”

Giles followed her gaze. “What is it you have, Joyce?” he asked gently. “Some memento of Buffy's?”

“Proof that she's alive and well,” Faith said.

He stood up from his chair in surprise. “ _What?!_ ”

The two women on the couch traded glances, the elder frowning at the abruptness of the younger, and the younger looking mildly amused by the reaction she'd caused.

“Faith, I was trying to lead into this slowly.”

“Where's the fun in that?”

Joyce rolled her eyes and turned to address their guest. “Sit down, Rupert. I need to say something before I show it to you.”

Giles sat, but he couldn't stop his eyes from drifting toward the desk with intense curiosity.

“Faith has brought me around to the idea of sharing this with you, but I mean for it to go no further than the three of us until October. By then, everyone will be more... _acclimated_ to the situation, and the details should drive them more toward accepting Buffy's choice. I'm afraid if they were to know of it now...”

“It'd just light a bigger fire under Willow's ass to make the choice for her,” Faith finished.

“Choice?” Giles whispered. “Buffy is _choosing_ something?”

Joyce slowly stood up and walked over to the desk, where she pulled the envelope out of the top drawer. “A new life,” she whispered as she turned back to face him. “A better life.”

Giles blinked at her, not understanding. “She came back through a portal? And chose to let us believe she didn't?”

“Nope.” Faith nodded to the envelope. “She sent _that_ through a portal, instead of herself.”

“I-- I don't understand.”

Joyce offered the letter to her guest.

Giles read the hurriedly scrawled postscript on the back of the envelope with a deep frown.

' _P.P.S. We're with the coven elders now, and I was about to have this letter sent, but I just found out the time distortion is way more severe than I'd thought. I've been gone somewhere around two weeks to you. Isn't that crazy? I'm still going to have this letter sent through now, because I don't want you to be left worrying too long. I hope it will make sense to you. Love you. -B'_

“Time distortion,” he murmured. “Hell dimensions are known for having a faster rate of time than we experience on this plane. It's come up a couple of times. She should have expected--”

“It's not a hell dimension,” Faith cut in. “Well, I guess that's a perspective thing, 'cause it sounds a lot like our world.”

Joyce gave Faith's knee a light slap as she resumed her seat beside her. “Let him read.”

Taking the cue, Giles slid the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it. The letter was written in black ink on two pages of pale blue hotel stationary, in Buffy's distinctive hand. “Gillis Plaza Inn, Raleigh, New Salem,” he read from the printed letterhead. “English.” He looked up at Faith. “The witch you described...”

“Clearly not the only human around.”

“Clearly.”

*~*~*

_Eight years, six months ago_

_Raleigh, New Salem Territory_

Corporal Della Shine steered her car into the parking garage that occupied the bottom story of the Gillis Plaza Inn, and parked just across from the lift. “How many rooms should I get?”

“Two is fine,” her front seat passenger answered. “We only have a few treelans left from what Samuels gave us. Our double room in Port Shelby was more expensive than we'd expected, especially for a motel. Still haven't cashed the service checks the Frandrey gave us after the inquiry. We'll have to hit a bank before we check out in the morning.”

“We can visit a bank when we get to New Salem tomorrow afternoon, if you think you'll be around long enough to need the money. I'll take care of this. I always stop here on my way home, largely because they offer a generous Frandrey discount.” She grinned. “Their discount for the Rasheeni military branches isn't half as good.”

Spike chuckled. “Guess that's one way to know we've reached the old human territory.”

“It's still mostly human around here, as far as permanent residents. Don't expect to see many Rasheeni faces this far north. Humans may have spread south and west, but the Rasheeni don't like the cold, and winters here are harsher.” She opened her door and nodded toward the back seat. “Wake her up and grab the bags. I'll meet you in the lobby.”

“Hey, Shine?”

She turned back to face him, already halfway out of the car. “We're off base and I'm in civvies, Spike. Call me Della.”

“Della, then. ...Thank you.”

She shrugged. “I was heading home for leave, anyway. My mother's house is maybe twenty miles from the coven's Council House. It's not out of my way.”

“Not just for the ride. Since we came here... You've been a helluva friend.”

“I _think_ that means something good?”

“The best. We could be gone by this time tomorrow, so time's running short to say it. Just want you to know I'm grateful. We both are.”

“Don't be. You two have been good to us, too.” She glanced to the backseat. “I'm going to miss you both.”

“It's mutual.” He waved her on. “Get us a couple of rooms. We'll be right behind you.”

Della looked like she wanted to say more, but she only nodded and continued on her way.

*~*~*

Buffy turned away from her long study of the sleeping town through the glass balcony door at the sound of an annoyed grunt from Spike.

He was sitting up on one of the beds, reading a book he'd bought on their way out of Port Shelby, and clearly struggling to find a comfortable position to rest his head against the headboard.

“Still tender?” she asked.

“Just enough to drive me up the bloody wall.” Giving up on the headboard, he pivoted and let himself fall forward, book still in hand, flopping belly first to land with his body angled across the entire bed.

She laughed and gestured vaguely to the neighboring bed. “It's a good thing Shine got us a double.”

“You don't look like you mean to sleep soon, anyway. What's on your mind?”

Buffy shook her head, declining to answer. She crossed the room to sit near his shoulder, and leaned over to brush aside his hair and inspect the incision Dr. Clement had made. “It's almost healed. Another day or two, and no headboard will be able to defeat you.”

He tried to return his attention to his book. “And then those bloody things are gonna get it, ” he grumbled.

“What are you going to do? Upholster them into submission?”

Spike couldn't maintain his scowl. The corners of his mouth began to twitch. “They deserve it. _Especially_ that carved wood nightmare in Port Shelby. It was awful _before_ the surgery. I haven't had a good bed read in weeks!”

“How the hell did you survive on a cot for months?”

“Pushed it up against the wood panel opposite the door, and didn't let any bloody doctors root around in my brain, that's how!”

As soon as Buffy started laughing, the twitch broke into a full smile. Soon, he was laughing, too. The book fell to the floor unnoticed while its owner was distracted by the woman who had let herself fall across his back in her fit of laughter. It was an act of easy, casual intimacy that he couldn't ignore. He rolled under her, pulling her back down when she attempted to move out of his way.

“No,” he whispered, holding her to his chest. “Just stay for a minute.”

Buffy relaxed against him as well as she could, given that she was bent almost sideways from a seated position. Her laughter quickly died away, and her volume dropped to match his. “We're not in a war zone anymore.”

He closed his eyes, bracing himself. “Haven't been for weeks.”

“I keep waiting for this to stop making sense. It still does.”

“Give it another day or two. We'll be back in Terra'bo, back to our old lives, and--”

“And it will still make sense.” Buffy pulled herself up. “You know it will. I don't expect it to be fun, or pleasant. My friends will completely _not_ understand. My mom might -and possibly Faith- but no one else. There will probably be enough 'Remember Angel?' speeches to make us both want to run away to...”

The silence that followed made Spike open his eyes. On seeing the expression on her face, and her gaze drifting back toward the town beyond the balcony, he guessed the end of her sentence. “To Rasheen.”

“I know we probably wouldn't be able to, because of the time distortion thingy. However long we were there before we came back to visit would be longer here. We'd waste most of every visit trying to track down our friends, because almost everyone would have moved or changed jobs while we were gone.”

Spike took a long time to reply. He was busy looking at her, taking in the bone-tired look in her eyes caused by months of war, followed by nearly two weeks of debriefing and questioning. It had been the long vigil she'd held at the base hospital just a few days before that had finally tipped her over the edge. She'd been so tired, she'd begged off joining him and Dr. Clement for a 'sprung from the hospital and chip-free' celebratory drink, opting instead to return to their motel room. She'd done little more than sleep since.

But there was something behind the exhaustion. Something less fleeting in the grand scheme of things, something that belonged with her easy smiles and the casual intimacy of her touch, whether it was falling against him in laughter, resting her hand over his in a hospital recovery room, or putting her back to his as they had prepared to fight their way through encircling Calanese soldiers on Carabon Hill.

It was something that belonged with her late night bull sessions with Shine and Tray, with their evenings sipping the colonel's whiskey in the command tent with the officers whenever good news came in, with her eagerness to learn the native language and traditions of this world, to better understand the strangers she'd given up months of her life to fight alongside, and the smiles she wore when they showed appreciation for her efforts, smiles that grew wider as those strangers became friends.

“So we don't make it a visit.”

She stared at him as if he'd grown three heads.

“It's not that far flung an idea, pet.”

“Is this about your job offer? Or about Pete and Polly getting us pre-approved for citizenship? 'Cause you _know_ he only pushed for that because he wants me to go to the Academy.”

“Don't even know enough about the job to know if I'd take it. And Pete wears his motivations on his sleeve for _everyone_ to see. Nothing new there.”

“So what's new?”

“You. You're happy here, love. We both know it. I haven't much to complain about, either. And you're right about what we're going back to being less than pleasant.”

After she'd taken a moment to absorb this proposal, she shook her head. “That's not an option, Spike. We don't belong here.”

“Pete Samuels thinks we do. He was willing to put his career on the line for a chance of getting you into one of those grey uniforms.”

“Pete drinks a lot.”

“He was dead sober when he was making deals with the RIS in Port Shelby.”

“That's not the point. The point is that we have our real lives to get back to, and I've already made us put it off long enough.”

Spike sat up to face her eye to eye. “Lives neither of us is especially looking forward to, that are only gonna get _less_ pleasant if this _\--_ ” He gestured between them. “--keeps making sense.”

“No. This is crazy.” She shook her head. “I love you, but right now _you're_ not making sense. This isn't our world, Spike. We didn't choose to come here, and we weren't invited. It was just a mistake, one that happened to-- Why are you looking at me like that?”

Spike had no words. All he could do was stare at her in shock.

It took Buffy a few seconds to realize what she'd said. She shifted uncomfortably. “I didn't mean for that to come out that way.”

He managed to blink.

She struggled to fill the silence, but could only do it while looking away. “Or, you know, at all. I wasn't sure I should. I mean, things are going to be so complicated when we go back, and you might not stay in Sunnydale, since you'll be totally free again. And you _not_ staying would simple things up so much, and we both know it.”

“So you don't mean...?”

“Dravon told me I was was being stupid when I tried to explain it. I guess I didn't tell you I called him from the hospital. I kinda had a panic attack when you went into the operating suite, and needed a calm, logical voice in my ear. I'm not sure logical is what I got, but I definitely needed his calm. I mean, I'd just handed you off to a total stranger on Bradford's suggestion, for freakin' _brain_ surgery. What if Clement couldn't do it? What if there was something we didn't know about the chip that made it explode or something when it was messed with? What if something got damaged more than even you could heal from, and you weren't _you_ when you woke up?”

“Love...”

“Drav said I should just give in and call you Leikat, and stop acting like this is all temporary. But isn't it temporary? It has to stop making sense at some point, and I don't know when that's going to be. Maybe when we get back, when we have more of a choice about how we live, where we live, whether we're in a war for our survival-- Well, _I_ won't have much of a choice about that part, but you will. Just because it doesn't _feel_ temporary, doesn't mean it isn't, and there's the whole 'bonding in extreme situations' angle to consider, and I don't know how temporary it feels to you, and--”

“Buffy, stop.” He cupped her cheek in his hand and turned her head to face him. “It doesn't feel temporary.”

“It doesn't?”

“It never did.”

*~*~*

Della's knock on the hotel room's door was answered by a vampire who looked as though he'd just rolled out of bed. He was barefoot, his shirt was unbuttoned, and his bleach-tipped brown curls were completely unrestrained.

She laughed at the sight of him. “Late start, Spike?”

“Late night.” He nodded for her to enter the room and closed the door behind her.

She glanced toward the bathroom door on her way by it, identifying Buffy's location from the sound of the shower running. “I was stopping by to see when you two wanted to check out. At first glance, I'm going to guess you aren't quite ready.” She stopped and stared at the sight of the two beds. One was a mess of tangled sheet and crumpled coverlet. The other was still as neatly made as it had been at check-in. “Oh.”

Spike followed her gaze, realizing how obvious the beds made the previous night's activities. He couldn't help but chuckle. “Yeah.”

“It's about time.” Della took a seat on the edge the tidier bed and studied her host. “So it takes being a few hours from your ticket home for you two to finally spend a night together?”

“She said...” Spike glanced toward the closed bathroom door. “Shine, I think this is real for her.”

“Obviously. It has been for months.”

“It has?”

“To me it has. I had assumed she was never going to act on it, because you were adversaries in Terra'bo. She's said some things that amounted to it being unacceptable that you are close, and that she expects that closeness to have to end when you get home.”

“Home,” he echoed. “That's the real question, isn't it? How much of a home is it, if neither of us is exactly looking forward to getting there?”

“It doesn't _have_ to end the second you step through the portal, Spike. You'll adjust, and continue your lives.” She gave him a pointed look. “I have reason to believe you two can take on _any_ situation, and come out of it successfully.”

“You don't know her friends. I'd rather take another hilltop full of Calanese than deal with that mess.”

Her eyes widened. “You're not thinking of staying?”

“Beginning to.” He went to the closet, and fished something out of the pocket of his duster. “I met a bloke in Port Shelby, former Royal Marine by the name of Persheth. Seems he's got some connections in the team of suits and spooks who ran the inquiry, and knows what really happened up there. He asked me to consider throwing my lot in with his crew.”

Della took the business card he offered her. “Dorwie Private Security Associates,” she read. “I've heard of them. Only about half of what they do is private security. The other half is... Well, what do you know about Dorwie?”

“Persheth said it's his hometown. Little piece of nowhere just upriver from what's left of Port Harlan.”

“Harlan is one of the southernmost human settlements, near the old territorial line, so it has a high Rasheeni population, which means _everyone_ took losses when the Calanese Navy attacked the port. The queen at the time -our Queen Grella's late mother- was losing the war, growing desperate for help, and she knew the coven elders were feeling something similar, because they were mobilizing the Frandrey for a retaliatory attack, something they'd rarely done before. The Frandrey had historically been primarily a defensive force to protect human towns, you understand. The late queen took the opportunity to finally invite the human settlements to come under Rasheeni governance, to join forces. That would take some time to work out, and the people of Dorwie didn't want to wait on the politicians.”

“Makes sense.” Spike shrugged. “Likely felt exposed.”

“Dorwie is a Rasheeni town, Spike, more heavily populated by hotheaded warriors than carefully trained magic-users. You can guess what happened when the only protection they got to hold them over during the negotiations was a small squad of Frandrey.”

“Bloodshed?” Spike threw a glance toward the bathroom as the water shut off. “They didn't off the grey uniforms, did they?”

“Frandrey uniforms were crimson back then. And no. The people of Dorwie were good to their Frandrey squad, grateful for the help, but they were far from satisfied. They gathered the best warriors in the village -mostly former military, a few hunters. The oldest took control of the fishing boats and armed them, creating a makeshift navy to guard the town from the river. The younger ones returned the favor to the Calanese, sneaking into their territory by land, the same way the Calanese had sneaked up to Harlan by sea.”

“What'd they blow up?”

“Nothing. But they came home to Dorwie on a wave of news reports about a series of Calan military officers dying of gunshot wounds, when they weren't close to any known Rasheeni unit.” Della handed back the card. “Two generations on, the tradition lives. Only now, they get paid for it.”

“In other words, this Dorwie lot are mercenaries.”

“If that means 'soldiers for hire, who care little for the rules of law and warfare,' yes.” She quirked her mouth to the side. “If this former marine knows about Carabon Hill, I can see why he would be interested in you.”

Spike returned the card to his coat pocket and threw another glance at the bathroom door as sink and tooth-brushing noises replaced the shower noises. “I mentioned the offer to her.”

Della studied him for a moment, furrowing her brow. “So you _are_ considering staying.”

“I floated the idea her way last night. By this morning, she seemed like she thought it might be worth stopping to consider. You've heard the colonel nudging her to enlist.”

“How could I not? He thinks Buffy would make a fine officer. I'm inclined to agree.” Della's gaze drifted to the neighboring bed. “But if she doesn't take him up on his offer, you won't take Persheth up on his?”

“I can't. I think you know that.”

“I'd like to be entirely selfish, and tell my friends to stay in Rasheen, start new careers, and keep messing up beds together--”

“Thanks, pet.”

“But it isn't my place. You'll need to decide this for yourselves.” Della held out a hand, palm up. “Sign your Frandrey service check over to me, and I'll go find a bank. We're going to be here for a couple of days.”

“We are?”

“Spike, one of the first things I learned about you is that you're prone to instant, impulsive actions, but if you stop and think before you act, logic has a chance to take hold.”

“So I'll get my map in two days? Are we playing this again?”

“You'll figure out your own map this time, friend. I'll just be withholding the car keys until you do.”


	14. Biased Decisions

_**Chapter 14: Biased Decisions** _

_Eight years, six months ago_

_Raleigh, New Salem Territory_

Buffy came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. “Did I hear Della?”

Spike sat on the edge of the bed they'd shared the night before. “Gave her my service check to cash,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Should keep us long enough to figure things out.”

“Figure what out?”

“I meant what I said last night.”

“You said a lot of things last night. So did I.”

“Buffy...” He brought his eyes up to hers. “I don't want to go back.”

After a long, tense silence, she came to sit beside him. “I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to that.”

He shifted his position to face her. “They're willing to call us citizens. _Both_ of us. Pete's willing to do or say just about anything to get you wearing grey. I've got that job offer with that fellow from Dorwie. Staying in Rasheen _is_ an option, love. We're _wanted_ here.”

“I'm wanted back in Terra'bo, too,” she whispered.

“I'm not.”

It took her a moment to formulate an argument to that bit of truth. “You're not the most wanted guy ever here, either. Accepting a vampire in their society isn't the same thing as respecting one. They won't ever make it easy for you.”

“If my best girl is a Frandrey officer, it'll help. If she's not, it's a moot point. Question is, does she want to be?”

“A Frandrey officer? Or your girl?” She squinted at him as she understood what he was saying. “Wait. Moot point? As in you'll only stay if I will?”

“Maybe?” He stood up and paced the room, trying to find the right words. “I wanna ask you to choose. Between Terra'bo and me. I want to ask you not to leave me behind. But the truth is, if you left without me, I'd probably give up and follow you the next bloody day.”

“That's kinda pathetic, Spike.”

“Thanks, Slayer. I love you, too,” he snarked.

“I know,” she whispered, completely unsurprised. “That's the problem, isn't it? We're not just choosing where to live. Where we live is going to impact the rest of our lives -or at least the rest of mine- and how much of that time we get to spend together.”

“You mean without your mates trying to off me, or at least put some distance between us.”

“Among other considerations.” She moved to her duffel bag to pull out some clothes. “I think better while walking. It's an old human settlement. There's _got_ to be some good graveyards to wander.”

“Want company?”

“Maybe later. I think I need some time alone. When Della gets back from the bank, ask her if she knows a good place for a long talk over drinks. We'll pick her brain about Rasheen tonight. Oh, and I don't know if you noticed, but I saw something out the window last night.”

“What's that?”

“There's a used bookstore across the plaza.” She laughed as his eyes lit up. “Yes, I'll know where to find you when I get back. But can you do me a favor and _not_ blow all our money before we decide if we're going to need it for more than a hotel bill?”

*~*~*

_Four months, three weeks ago_

_Sunnydale_

Giles handled the letter as carefully as he handled his oldest demon history texts, recognizing the import of the document.

_Dear Mom,_

_I'm so sorry. These last eight months must have been hell for you. I know it's actually been less than_ _that from your perspective. How much less, I'm not really sure. But it's been eight months here, so however long it's been for you probably still feels like way too long._

_I guess Faith told everyone where I went, so at least you knew I hadn't run away again. When I left this time, it was an accident. But maybe knowing that didn't help much. 'She fell into a magical portal to a demon dimension' doesn't sound all that reassuring, now that I think about it._

_Spike and I finally have a way back, now that the war we stumbled into is over. The problem is, we've started building a life here. In seven months fighting beside the Frandrey (a mostly human military branch- the politics here are complicated), we earned some respect. As in, lots of people actually know about and appreciate what I can do. It's kind of amazing._

_We've been offered citizenship by the government of Rasheen. They were a little sketchy about offering it to Spike, but Lt. Col. Samuels pulled some strings. I'm close enough to human that it wasn't an issue for me. I think the colonel knew he didn't stand a chance of talking me into enlisting in the Frandrey if Spike wasn't going to be ok here. We arrived as a package deal, and everyone kinda treats us like we still are. They aren't totally wrong._

_We were going to turn it all down and walk away. The citizenship, my fast-track ticket to the military academy's officer training program, the friends we've made. All of it. We were going to New Salem to get the coven elders to send us back to where we came from, and disappear from this world as suddenly as we'd arrived._

_But then we stopped to think about it._

_Things are going really good here, Mom. For both of us. Spike's always going to be less-than-fully accepted by this society, but I'm pretty sure that bothers me more than it bothers him. He made as many friends during the war as I did. A human surgeon at a Frandrey medical center took that chip out of his head, and then took him out for a beer to celebrate. He also met a guy who runs a group of Rasheeni mercs, who wants to put him on their roster. He's not normal by the standards of this world, anymore than he was in our old one, but he's a person to them, and he's not-so-secretly reveling in it._

_I had no idea Spike needed people like this. Or how much I'd enjoy watching him hang out on a sunny hotel room balcony like he is right this minute. He's not doing much, just casually watching the Saturday afternoon crowds moving in and out of the shops on the other side of the plaza while he pretends to write in his journal. I've never seen him happier._

_I didn't want to. See him happy, I mean. Before we landed here, I just wanted to see him go away. But a lot can change in eight months, especially in the middle of a war. Most of the people we know have figured out that we're more than friends at this point. There are occasional snide comments, mostly about him. But no one is openly objecting. No one is telling me I shouldn't see where this goes. And I really want to._

_Things are good for me, too. I don't have to hide that I'm a slayer. That's a big one. The first human settlements in Rasheen were founded by witches on the run from persecution, and more witches and warlocks have followed over the centuries. A human woman with powers beyond the normal is barely worth a shrug around here. I'm different, but I'm not all that weird, you know?_

_The colonel was super impressed with my work out in the field, hence him trying to get me to become a Frandrey officer. All I did was take charge of a handful of good people and kick some ass. Normal slayer stuff to me. Worthy of a promising career being offered on a silver platter to him._

_I've never felt so appreciated in my life._

_Mom, I'm happy. I'm healthy and mostly safe. I have a good future, lined up and ready to go. I have someone to share it with. We have some really great friends, too. I have everything I need._

_I want to stay._

_I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you want to hear. You probably want to know I'm fighting tooth and nail to go back to you, to go home. But I guess the real problem is, this place is starting to feel like home, in ways your world never did. I think I belong here._

_Tell Giles to keep an eye on Faith. She needs a good watcher. And to trust her dreams. And everything else I've said here, I guess. He'll want to know I'm ok._

_Don't miss me too much. And don't worry about me. I'm going to have a good life, and so should you._

_I love you. Always._

_Buffy_

_P.S. Spike sends his best, and wants me to tell you to think of him when you have a mug of hot chocolate. Della says the mini-marshmallows aren't very popular here, and he's going to struggle to find stores that carry that version. I expect to be subjected to a long term mini-marshmallow shopping odyssey. So have a mug for me, too, in pity and solidarity. I've hooked up with a freak with a sweet fang and an obsessive personality. I need all the help I can get._

Giles stared at the second page for a long time after he finished reading, taking it all in. “Eight months,” he eventually whispered. He looked back to the postscript on the envelope. “In those first two weeks, while we were flailing about for a book or a spell that would bring her home, she went through a war, made friends, completely lost her reason in regard to Spike -again- and decided to join the military.”

“She's growing up and starting a new life,” Joyce said softly.

*~*~*

_Eight years, six months ago_

_Raleigh, New Salem Territory_

Buffy folded the letter and slid it into an envelope, but left it unsealed. She then took it outside to their hotel room balcony.

“Hey.”

Spike looked up from his journal. “Saw you scribbling away in there. Pro and con lists?”

“No. I've decided.”

He looked out to the plaza, afraid to see the answer in her eyes before he heard it. “So what's it gonna be when we get to New Salem? The coven elders or the immigration office?”

“Both.”

He slowly brought his eyes back to her, one eyebrow raised in question.

She held out the envelope. “I want to send this to Mom.”

He accepted it cautiously. “You want me to read it?”

“Yeah.” She shifted her weight. “I'm going to run over to Della's room, to see when she wants to check out. Don't be surprised if you hear cheering and shouting from the next balcony. She may not be able to restrain herself.” She was gone before he could come up with a reply.

Spike read the letter three times, completely entranced by the warmth and certainty in the words. She'd made up her mind, and put his happiness near the center of the decision. He was still struggling to comprehend the reality of it all when Buffy returned to the balcony.

“So what do you think? Anything to add?”

“Uh, send her my best,” he said distractedly. “Tell her to keep me in mind when she has a mug of hot chocolate. She'll like that.”

“Ok. I can do that. Anything else?”

He shook his head, closed the letter into his journal and rose to his feet. “Tell me Shine's not gonna be ready to hit the road for a few hours.”

“She thinks we should head out after dinner, when the downtown shopping traffic dies down.”

“Good.” He pulled her into a kiss while lifting her to carry her back into the room, bound for their bed.

They'd nearly reached it when a loud throat-clearing sound drew their attention.

Buffy slid out of Spike's arms and turned to wave at their friend, blushing. “Sorry, Dell. I got distracted. Uh, Spike, we have an offer of a celebratory dinner out before we leave.”

“And you two will have the rest of your lives to mess up beds together.” Della grinned, barely resisting the urge to bounce on her toes. “ _In Rasheen!_ ”

Spike laughed at her excitement. “If we can get _this_ reaction from someone we could have got killed...”

“Just wait until the colonel hears!” Della finished. She grabbed Buffy in a hug. “It is strange that I can't wait to call you 'sir?'”

Buffy returned the hug, laughing. “You don't _have_ to stay an enlisted man, Della. Apply to the Academy with me.”

“No way. Not only could the Frandrey not pay me enough to live in Vereen City for a year, but I'd likely get some awful posting after.” She shook her head. “I like where I am, thank you, right beside the colonel.”

“So I guess the next question is, which of us calls Pete with the news?” Spike asked.

“And Drav.”

“And Polly.”

“And Tray.”

“And Dr. John.”

“Ooh! Do you think this might get Charlie to stop feeling so guilty about spilling the beans?”

“Not bloody likely.” Spike gestured toward his coat, indicating the business card in one of the pockets. “But I know who _I'll_ be calling from New Salem.”

Della looked worried. “Buffy, you know what kind of people he's signing up to work with, don't you?”

“He told me.” Buffy shrugged. “It's fine.”

“Truly?”

“The infamous serial killer is going semi-legit. This is _not_ bad news, Dell.”

“This from a woman who used to off a half dozen of _my_ kind for her evening warm up.”

Della shook her head as she led the way to the door. “I can't believe I'm encouraging this.”

*~*~*

_Four months, three weeks ago_

_Sunnydale_

“So if a week here is approximately four months there, and she's been gone about five and a half weeks...” Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Twenty two months. She'll have been there two full years by the time we reach the weekend.”

“And it sounds like everything after the first eight months has been voluntary,” Faith said. “She didn't say a word about deciding to stay being a one-shot deal, and from what I've seen of the magic they have on tap, portals probably aren't hard to come by if she changes her mind.”

He put his glasses back on, reread the letter, then folded it up and returned it to its envelope. “Two years,” he said again, still trying to absorb the information. “I don't know what to say to comfort you, Joyce. I wish I had some wisdom to provide.”

“I'm trying to make my peace with it. My baby grew up and started a life and career of her own, just as I'd always hoped she would. In my daydreams, I was a part of that life, but...”

“But at least she got off the slayer hamster wheel,” Faith finished. “If she doesn't get into another war, she'll probably outlive me and a few slayers after me.” She reached out to give Joyce's shoulder a quick squeeze. “Not that that makes it all sunshine and roses.”

“It helps,” Joyce admitted.

“I suppose it does.” Giles leaned over the coffee table to return the letter to its owner. “Why October?”

“The letter will match the time here,” Joyce explained. “And showing Buffy's friends the envelope will be optional. It also gives me more time to get used to the idea, as I'm afraid I might have to defend Buffy's choice to them.”

“Not alone,” Faith assured her. She looked to Giles.

“Of course,” he said as soon as he'd shaken off his surprise at Faith's comment. “Although I must admit to having some reservations about the choices themselves.”

“Like William the Bloody?” Faith asked with a smirk.

“For example.”

“Yeah, I figured your panties would be in a knot about that part.” She shrugged. “B's got a type, and it's not Caveman. I think she already kinda knew that, but Riley Joe Normal with the pulse and the generic personality seems like what you guys liked to see, so she just went with it.” Her smirk returned. “And look what happens the second she's out of everybody's line of sight.”

“Please tell me you don't mean to tell Riley...”

“Buffy's young man will see the letter when everyone else does,” Joyce said as she stood to return it to the desk. “What he does with that information will be his business.”

“I have a feeling it'll be mine,” Faith grumbled. “I'll probably end up defending the local _vampires._ ”

Giles leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. “Willow's reaction will likely be the greater concern. I can make subtle efforts in the meantime to obstruct her research, but if I'm to lead her to believe I'm an active participant, such moves cannot be frequent.”

“So jump on the 'believing she's dead' train with me.” Faith winced slightly at Joyce's expression. “Sorry, Joyce. It's just practical. She's not coming back, so it washes out the same.”

“What's believable coming out of your mouth may not be believable coming out of mine, Faith. It makes sense for you to hold to the conclusion you jumped to after Buffy's disappearance came so close on the heels of your shared dream. For me, it would look as if I've given up on my slayer overnight.” The watcher shook his head. “I couldn't. No one would believe it.”

“ _We_ know you wouldn't give up on her, Rupert,” Joyce said gently. “But the alternative to pretending to believe she's passed is to spend the next six and a half months lying to them outright, breaking their trust. I know you don't want to do that.”

“She's got a point.” Faith leaned forward on the couch. “When they find out in October I've been lying my ass off about what I think happened to B, no one's gonna blink. When they find out Joyce has been holding out on them, they'll get it. But you...” She shook her head. “It'll be the end of the Scooby gang, man. 'Cause honestly? You and hope for getting Buffy back are all that's keeping them together. I'm just a placeholder.”

“So I won't show them the envelope,” Joyce decided. “They never have to know we kept the letter secret for so long. If eight months is long enough to change Buffy's life, perhaps it will be long enough to change her friends' minds about bringing her back.”

“Perhaps,” Giles mused as he studied Faith across the coffee table. “And I'm inclined to agree with the idea of never sharing the envelope, as unsavory as I may find the idea of an even longer term deception.”

“It might be the safest way to both keep the peace and make sure B gets left alone, Giles.”

He nodded, still studying her through slightly narrowed eyes. “You don't want to be a placeholder,” he murmured. “And you don't want to continue to be thought of as a liar.”

Faith frowned. “I thought we were talking about B.”

“Joyce said you talked her into telling me about this.”

“So?”

“Why?”

She hesitated before admitting, “I just thought, if you knew I wasn't holding out something important, you might maybe trust me a little, you know? Kinda like how you trust B?”

“Faith, is this your way of asking me to be your permanent watcher?”


	15. Divided Loyalties

_**Chapter 15: Divided Loyalties** _

_Today_

_Sunnydale_

Joyce squealed delightedly at the the phone she held, and leaned over to hug the woman beside her again. “I'm so happy for you!” She looked up at the man in the armchair across the coffee table from them. “Both of you!” She withdrew her arm to scroll through some more of the images. “And who is this little demon child?”

Buffy leaned over to see what her mother was seeing. “That's Kreena. She just turned four.” She frowned at Spike. “How did I not see you taking snaps at her birthday party?”

“'Cause you and her da were busy trying to fit fifty bloody sparklers on _one_ cake.” Spike rolled his eyes. “Tray's bad enough on his own, love. You don't need to encourage him.”

Buffy stuck her tongue out at him and turned her attention back to the phone her mom held. “The woman behind Kreena is Neela, her mom. You'd like her. She's sweet and loving, but tough enough to easily hold her own with Tray's crazy and his family's snobbery.”

She laughed at the next photo her mother scrolled to, that of herself and Traygo grinning as they delivered a cake that was so loaded with tiny sparkler candles, it was in danger of catching fire. “And _that_ is pretty much the epitome of what happens when I'm with Tray.”

“What? That something inevitably goes 'boom?'” Spike grumbled. “Usually with one or both of you too close to it for comfort?”

“I'm not sure I understand this relationship,” Joyce said cautiously, looking from one to the other.

“Kreena's somewhere between my niece and my goddaughter, in Terra'bo terms,” Buffy explained. “Uh, Terra'bo meaning... here. Tray and I have been super close since the war.”

Joyce scrolled slowly through more of the photos, carefully absorbing the little glimpses into her daughter's life she could glean from them. “I keep seeing these other demon men,” she murmured. “Especially this big one.” She looked up at Spike. “A friend of yours?”

“Persh?” Spike asked Buffy, as she was close enough to see the photos. At her confirming nod he answered Joyce. “Best I've ever had. My boss, besides.”

“Which isn't at all weird or problematic,” Buffy murmured.

“Says the woman who was Pete Samuels' pet for the last eight years of his career.”

“Pete never intentionally put me in situations that--” Buffy stopped herself and glanced at her mother. She abruptly switched into Rasheeni. “Can we just _not_ tonight, Katyan? This is pretty much the only upside to us getting kidnapped out of my office, and I don't want to ruin it.”

“Yeah, especially since you're already getting exactly what you want out of it,” he replied in kind. “I just did the math, love. By the time it's morning here, I'll have already missed my flight to the Sa'yane Mountains job.”

“Is _that_ why you're suddenly in such a shitty mood? I _told_ you I wasn't going to fight you on that.”

Joyce looked back and forth between them, uncomfortable with being present for what was clearly a brewing domestic spat, even though she couldn't understand a word they were saying.

Buffy noticed her mother's discomfort and stood up. “Excuse us, please,” she said in English. “I think we need to borrow your kitchen for a minute. Katyan?”

“Suits me.” Spike followed Buffy to the kitchen and immediately resumed the discussion in Rasheeni. “You may not have been fighting me outright, love, but you've been more than clear about not wanting me to take the job.”

“Well I'm _sorry_ if me worrying about you -and not wanting you gone for half a year- pisses you off. Get the fuck over it.”

“Except it's not just about that, is it?” he challenged.

Joyce went to answer the knock on the front door that neither of them seemed to notice. By the time she had escorted her new guest to the living room, the discussion was clearly escalating to an argument. While they listened from the couch, English words and phrases began to creep into the exchange, unacknowledged by the speakers. Eventually, Spike made the full switch back into English, and Buffy followed suit.

“Katyan'plu laba grosha! Just admit it: If anyone but Persh had been the middle man for setting up this gig, you wouldn't even blink! Hell, you'd probably be scheduling leave right now to come visit me.”

“Or maybe I'd be scheduling leave to go up there for _another_ reason.”

“Come off it, Buffy. It's been two years. More than long enough for you and Persh to get right with each other.”

“Persh and I are _fine,_ and you know it. Yes, it took me a while to feel like I really trusted him again, and don't you _dare_ even _imply_ it wasn't justified. But if you want to hang onto your delusions about this having _anything_ to do with my relationship with Persh, go right ahead. Enjoy your denial.”

*~*~*

_Seven years, eleven months ago_

_North Dorwie Airstrip_

Six months after being hired by Dorwie Security, Spike stepped off a commuter flight and slung his bag over his shoulder, taking his first look at the company's hometown as he followed the other passengers toward a new-looking and well-lit parking garage, hoping that's where he'd find someone waiting for him.

He had almost reached the structure when a large figure stepped out of the shadows near the entrance. “It's about time you showed up.”

“Didn't you get my message? Had to catch a later flight. Buffy got me a bit ...distracted.”

Persheth laughed at his new friend's shameless grin. “I'd say some parting relations justify missing a flight once in a while.” He waved around, indicating the airstrip. “So how do you like the pride of the rich side of town?”

Spike nodded appreciatively as they turned to walk toward the road that led to the ferry dock. “I take it Dorwie proper hasn't anything so posh?”

“Posh?” Persheth shook off the question. “Never mind. I'll learn your version of English eventually. But stay to more common words with my parents, would you? Neither of them learned English until they were adults, and they still struggle with some of the nuances.”

“I'll be meeting your folks?”

“I promised to bring my house guest over for supper tomorrow, if it's alright with you.”

“You warn them your house guest is a bit paler and smaller than you lot, and won't eat much, besides?”

“I did, but my father was more upset that I'd hired someone who'd never served, to tell you the truth. Retired Vice Admiral Pershin of Dorwie takes military service _very_ seriously. If you hadn't been unofficially attached to that Frandrey unit in the war, he'd have shouted me out of his house for bringing you onto my team, and my mother would be smuggling her roast hurla over to my place every weekend. She's the kind who always thinks her kids need her to feed them, no matter how old they get. You know the type. Speaking of, what are you going to do for eats? We don't have much in the way of human donors here.”

“I put in a call to Port Harlan Med Center, to request they set aside a bit for me. I'll have to take a trip down the river to stock up every few days.”

“Have you seen Harlan yet?”

Spike shook his head. “Just heard the stories.”

“Huge chunks of it were never rebuilt, and what was, wasn't built well. The city's a shadow of its former self. I'll show you some photos before your first trip downriver, so you can see the difference.”

The conversation quieted for a few steps, as Spike was lost in thought.

“Thinking about Buffy making you miss your flight?” Persheth asked with a sly smile.

“Wondering how I'll get along out here, especially with your da. Not exactly the upright citizen type.”

“Don't worry about Persh the Elder. Hurla'bo grosha that he is, he's a good sort. Besides, you only have what? Two weeks of exile before she lets you back into the apartment?”

“Yeah. Seems to think she needs me gone to get any studying done, and exams for the first term cadets are coming up next week.”

“I'm guessing she's right.” Persheth laughed at the look he got in reply. “You can't argue with that after I had to wait two extra hours for you to get here.”

Spike's mild glare turned into a chuckle. “Fair point. I just hope she's too busy with her books to spend much time with that pizza chef she's in love with.”

He looked horrified. “ _What?!_ ”

“Just a joke, mate. Mostly.” The chuckle faded with a shake of his head. “Come visit us in Vereen City after her exams, Persh. She'll introduce you to Sixth Street Pizza, and her one true love they keep in the kitchen, I guarantee it. Plan to buy, if you want to make a good impression on her. The fastest way to a slayer's heart is through her stomach. The second fastest is to fight with her.”

Persh laughed. “You know, I think I'm going to like your Buffy.”

*~*~*

_Two years, three months ago_

_Dorwie_

“I'm going to kill that woman of yours, one of these days,” Persh grumbled to the man in the driver's seat of his car as he rubbed his jaw. “Just thought I'd warn you.”

Spike looked around the intersection for a moment, then rolled the car on through. “Used to say the same thing myself, mate. See how that turned out?”

“She ever knock out a tooth?”

“She put me in a bloody wheelchair for almost six months. Broke my back. You got off easy.”

Persh turned wide eyes on his friend. “Wait. _You_ were the vampire in that falling organ story? You never mentioned that little detail.”

The driver smirked. “It's more fun for me if I keep some bits of the stories to myself.”

“So what did you do to deserve such punishment?”

“Endangered her favorite vamp.” Spike shrugged. “Lessons learned. Better to be the favorite myself than to make the favorite bleed.”

“Lessons learned,” Persh repeated, his thoughts drifting to the small bag of used ammo he'd recently added to his weapons kit. “Aside from this charming little battle wound she gave me, and an extremely clear threat she issued, she's been very... reasonable. Very restrained and polite. Says she's angry with me, but isn't really showing it.”

Spike winced.

“That's a bad sign?”

“When she's quiet, mate, she's not just pissed off. She's hurt. If you're gonna cross her, you'd rather have her throwing punches than playing nice.” He shook his head again. “Might take you a bit to recover from this.”

“ _I'm_ not the one she insisted needed recovery time.” Persh looked his friend over. “I still can't believe you came up here so soon.”

“I'm fine, mate. You're the one with a pissed off slayer to manage.”

“What's it going to take to get back in her good graces?”

“Don't know.”

“What worked for you?”

“First step was helping her prevent an apocalypse. That was the easy part.”

The passenger studied the driver for a moment, hoping that was a joke. Seeing no indication of such, he leaned back in his seat. “I'm doomed, aren't I? I might be better off if I _did_ retire.”

Spike chuckled as he pulled the car into a space in front of the dentist's office. “Slayer's mellowed a bit in recent years. That's likely why you're here, and not getting her cold shoulder from a bed at Janrey Surgical Hospital.”

“I'm about to have a dental implant installed. She's not _that_ mellow.”

“Just start with baked goods, mate. _Before_ the next time you call me for a job. That'll get your foot in the door. Doughnuts are your best bet.”

“Doughnuts? _Truly?_ ”

“At least a dozen.”

*~*~*

_Two years, two months ago_

_Nor'challa Beach_

The box of doughnuts crashed to the floor as the argument in the kitchen escalated.

In the living room, Sean shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked to the man on the couch for a reaction.

“It's fine, mate,” Spike assured him. “Needs to happen.”

Buffy's voice was loud enough to be heard throughout the apartment. “Fuck you, Persh! And fuck your stupid mission. The answer is _no_.”

“Buffy, be reasonable. He's perfectly fit, and he wants to go.”

“He's _not_ going. I'll tie his ass up myself if I have to.”

“It wouldn't be the first time!” Spike called toward the kitchen.

“Shut up, Spike!” Buffy shouted back.

Spike chuckled. “Deal another hand of gin, Sean. It's just gonna be the two of us for a bit, yet.”

“Oh, no!” Persh said with a mocking laugh. “You wouldn't want him to actually have a say in his own work, would you?”

“We had a deal, Persh. Six weeks before you called him in for another job. _Six._ It's been _four_. I will pay for the damned dental implant, if that's what it takes.”

Sean looked worriedly toward the kitchen as he shuffled the cards. “Should we intervene?”

Spike took a sip of the Jorosi whiskey he'd stolen from Buffy's stash. “Hell, no. I'm not looking to get shot in my own kitchen. Deal the cards.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure that if I try to stand between them now, I'll be stuck doing it for the rest of their lives.” He shook his head. “Not happening. Let 'em hash it out on their own.”

“This isn't about the implant! This is about you acting like you don't trust your Katyan's best friend after I got him home to you safe for six solid years!”

“Until you _didn't_.”

“And I knew just who to call to clean up the mess, didn't I?”

“Where I _told_ you you were still on my shit list. And for a damned good reason!” There was a pause in the shouting. When Spike and Sean next heard Buffy's voice, her volume was lower. “That's why you came here instead of calling, isn't it? Because of me.”

“I should have realized we'd be seen from that hill. I didn't. And I got four wounded men, a wrathful slayer, and a happy dentist in exchange. Let me know when I've paid for my folly, Buffy.”

There was a long silence.

“In two weeks. I'm sorry, Persh, but I just... _can't_. I saw that room. You didn't. I need a little more time before I... I'm still having nightmares about it. Even if Spike doesn't need the time, I _do._ I'm not ready for him to go back out in the field with you yet.”

“With me,” Persh echoed. “So I'm right to think you've lost trust in me.”

“That needs time to heal, too. ...Please, Persh.”

His sigh was audible from the living room. “Two more weeks, it is.”

“Thank you.”

“But after that, Buffy, I'm not going to wait on your say so.”

“I know. Neither will he. Even if I'm still not ready for him to go back without...”

“It wasn't a one-time choice was it?” Persh asked softly.

“No. It's every day.”

Sean frowned at Spike across the coffee table. “Can you still hear what they're saying? I can't make it out.”

“Yeah. I hear them.”

“And?”

“All this noise is a lot less about wrapping me in cotton wool than it sounds from the outside, Sean.” Spike swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. “It's about a lot of other things, besides. Respect, prejudices, Callisto, money, our future, you name it. Trading our lives in Terra'bo for our lives here didn't come without a price, and I'm not the one got stuck with the tab.”

“You're not going to explain what that means, are you?”

“You're a smart kid. You'll figure it out.”

Sean looked mildly irritated, but he let it pass. “And you're sure Buffy and Persh will be alright?”

“As soon as her nightmares stop taking her to Lumere Island so often, yeah. They'll be fine.”

*~*~*

_Today_

_Sunnydale_

“Persh and I are _fine,_ and you know it. Yes, it took me a while to feel like I really trusted him again, and don't you _dare_ even _imply_ it wasn't justified. But if you want to hang onto your delusions about this having _anything_ to do with my relationship with Persh, go right ahead. Enjoy your denial.”

The silence that followed propelled the new arrival off the couch and toward the kitchen, anticipating an opportunity to interrupt. Joyce followed, hoping to keep the peace.

Spike dropped his volume, feeling the sting of the implication. “I'm not in denial.”

“Hurla chea.” she lowered her volume to match, and finally played the trump card Thomas had suggested. “We both know this is _really_ about Aaron. This job was the perfect opportunity for you to make sure you aren't the one who takes the phone call this time.”

Spike closed his eyes. “Katyan, please. I don't wanna get into--”

“Oh, we're talking about this.” She pointed at the floor. “If it means keeping your stubborn ass in Terra'bo until the Sa'yane job is _over,_ we're talking about this.”

“And exactly what is it you want me to say? That I don't want to have to pick you up off the floor over this one more time? That maybe I should've let you walk us away before we got too involved?” He sighed and opened his eyes, noticing the man standing in the kitchen doorway with Joyce as he did so. “Oh, bloody hell.”

Buffy turned around to find out who Spike was looking at, wincing when she saw him. “Chea. Hi. Uh... how much of that was in English?”

“About half of it,” Joyce answered, looking concerned.

“Sorry. We're the rudest guests ever. It's just that we, uh, have some stuff going on at home. I know the photos are nice, but that's not really the whole picture, if that makes any sense.”

“It does,” Joyce said softly. Her tone shifted into that of the friendly hostess, trying to diffuse the silent tension that was clearly building between Spike and her newest guest. “Should we all go back to the living room and have a seat? I can make more hot chocolate.”

Riley declined the offer with a shake of his head. “I was hoping for a private talk with Buffy.”

Spike chuckled at the idea, then immediately dropped his smile. “No.”

“Caln Leikat, caln kat,” Buffy snapped, gesturing toward Riley.

“Caln Katyan, tae laba grosha,” Spike replied with an eye roll. “And you wonder why half the bloody Admiralty plans to dance at your funeral.” He waved carelessly toward Riley. “Go on, then. _You_ put up with her for a while.”

“Hurlaba,” Buffy muttered at her Katyan, giving him a light kick in the shin. She put on a smile as she addressed Riley. “Porch?”

When they were alone on Joyce's back porch, Riley could no longer hide his pleasure at what he'd walked into. “The magic doesn't work here, does it?”

“Huh?”

“Whatever spell that's got you brainwashed. It's already failing. That's why you were arguing with him.”

Buffy struggled against her instinct to laugh. “No, I was arguing with him because it's _Spike._ ” She gestured vaguely back to the house. “The idiot seems to think this is the perfect time to take a six month job in the middle of nowhere, and that I'm not wise to his motivations.” She leaned her back against the porch rail. “Sometimes we take some loud and roundabout ways to get to the point, but we eventually get there. Of course, getting kidnapped to Terra'bo is just adding another layer of complication. We seriously did _not_ need this right now.”

“Buffy,” he said gently, bending low to look her in the eye. “You weren't kidnapped. You were brought _home_. Whatever has happened to you to make you think you want to live like that--”

“Live like what?”

“With a Hostile, who thinks he has some kind of say over who you talk to, among other things.”

She gave in to her laughter. “You know that was just Spike being a jerk, right? That's not a thing in Rasheeni culture, and it sure as hell isn't a thing in _our_ home. He just remembers not liking you, and is being an ass about you wanting to talk to me. Why did you think we were swearing at each other over it?”

Riley shrugged. “I didn't know you were swearing.”

“Oh, yeah. That was in Rasheeni. Sorry. Habit.”

He leaned back against the railing beside her. “This is going to be tougher than I thought. You've been completely absorbed into that demonic culture.”

“I guess I have. But it's not a fully demon culture. It's a mix of human and Rasheeni, with some influences from the Jorosi. For which _everyone_ should be grateful. Some days, knowing there's a bottle of Jorosi whiskey waiting at home is the only thing that keeps me out of the stockade for trying to beat some sense into a superior officer.” Misinterpreting his frown, she added, “No worries. I have a standing offer from Spike and the guys he works with to break me out if I ever lose my temper enough to get locked up.”

“I meant that deprogramming you would be tough.”

She looked up at him, suddenly serious. “Riley, I haven't been brainwashed. I don't need deprogramming. All I need is a witch who can send me and my Katyan home. The sooner, the better.”

“That's exactly my point, Buffy. He's not your ' _katyan._ ' He's a vampire. Your home is right here, not in some demon dimension with other-demon whiskey. You aren't some kind of demon-world soldier. You're a college student. Don't you remember all of that?”

“Of course I remember. Vaguely. Except the vampire part. Kinda living with that, day in and day out.”

“I can help you remember it better. We can pick up where we left off and--”

“Whoa!” Buffy pushed away from the railing abruptly. She turned to face him. “No. I'm only willing to let you get this out of your system to a certain point, Leikat. There is _no_ chance of any 'picking up where things left off' for _any_ of this. Not college, not being at home in Terra'bo, and _especially_ not you and me getting back together. I've been off the market since I was nineteen, and as of five years ago, there's no going back.”

“You're still nineteen. You've only been gone six months.”

“No, Riley. I'm not and I haven't. I'm twenty-eight years old. I have friends, family, and a career in Rasheen. And I have a spiritually and legally sanctified lifemate inside this very house. Maybe that doesn't mean much to you, but it means everything to me. That is a line that is _not_ crossed.”

“Curry powder!” came a shout from the kitchen.

Buffy looked toward the night sky and sighed. “Though some days, I wonder if it should be.”

Spike threw open the back door and practically jumped out onto the porch in excitement. “Buffy! Your mum and I got to talking about cooking and--”

“Yeah. I heard. I think half the neighborhood did.”

“First thing in the morning, I'll hit up a market. Anything else you want to stock up on?”

“Uh, Terra'bo money?”

Spike's enthusiasm instantly deflated. “Think Joyce would be willing to cover it?”

“For as much curry powder as _you'll_ want to buy? She'll need to take out a second mortgage. But I guess it can't hurt to ask her for a little spending money. You might as well get some hot chocolate mix with marshmallows while you're here. We're almost out, and there's no telling when we'll get back to that specialty shop in New Salem.”

“Great idea.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek.

“And if we make it back in time for you to go to Sa'yane, you'll want to take some of it with you.”

He looked at her quizzically. “You mean that, love?”

“I told you I wasn't going to fight you on this. Mostly, I just wanted you to admit why you wanted to go.” She shrugged. “Mission accomplished? Kinda?”

“So you'll put in for leave to come up there for a month or so?”

“I'll think about it.” She waved him away. “Now go make your shopping list. We're talking.”

“ _Your_ shopping list, you mean,” Riley corrected. He turned to Spike. “You're not really going to try to go to a grocery store in the morning, are you? I mean, I guess it would be funny, but...”

Buffy and Spike looked at each other as they understood what he was getting at. “Oh,” she finally said. “I think I kinda forgot. I feel stupid.”

“How do you think _I_ feel?” Spike countered. “It's not too late. I might be able to catch an open shop tonight. Join me?”

“If you and mom can scrounge up some civvies for me, sure.”

“I'll ask her.” Spike stopped in mid-departure. “Katyan, about the job... I don't deserve you.”

She gave him a wink. “I know.”

“And about bringing up that old baggage with Persh...”

“Make it up to me with a curry that isn't _pink_ , ok?”

“Deal.”

“Pink?” Riley asked when they were alone again.

“The native herbs he's been using to substitute for turmeric turn everything bright pink,” Buffy explained. “Spike's kitchen is a weird place, full of bizarre sagas about marshmallows, curry powder, and trying to satisfy my occasional craving for a real beef cheeseburger without driving hundreds of miles to the western side of the old human territory, which is pretty much the only place there are cows.” She shrugged. “That's the life of off-worlders. I came from the magical land of cheeseburgers on every corner, and got spoiled. ...But hurla cheese really is fantastic. Rasheeni dairy farms are pretty magical, in their own right.”

“Yeah,” Riley whispered. “You've always liked cheese.” He cleared his throat. “So, uh, I guess I'm not getting anywhere with you tonight, huh?”

“Or ever again, if you mean that the way it sounded.” She took his hand. “I'm sorry I didn't come back to tell you in person that I'd moved on. Maybe I should have. I guess it wasn't kind of me to leave you waiting. But I _did_ move on, Leikat. I need you to respect that, and for you to move on, as well.”

“I meant that I need to find a better way to get through to you, Buffy.” He gripped her hand. “I love you, and I want to fix all this for you. To give you your life back. And-- And bring you cheeseburgers whenever you want. Whatever it takes.”

She smiled and pulled her hand away. “Good-bye, Riley.”

He was alone on the porch before he could come up with a reply.


	16. Rising Heroes

_**Chapter 16: Rising Heroes** _

_Four months, two weeks ago_

_Sunnydale_

The images were blurry. A stake with blood running along the grain of the wood. The view of Main Street from the roof of Sun Cinema. A different rooftop, growing distant as she fell away from it. Buffy talking to her about washing dishes. A bright purple light in a graveyard. Joyce helping her move boxes to a basement. Giles pouring her a cup of coffee while asking her about a recent patrol.

She couldn't shake them from her head. They were as fuzzy and dreamlike as she remembered images from her dreams being before she was called, but they didn't feel like those old dreams. They stayed with her, weighing on her. Something about them didn't make sense.

“Faith? Are you paying attention?”

She looked up, and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a demon with skin mottled in dark orange and rust tones standing with an arm slung casually over Buffy's shoulder, bending low to whisper something in her ear she thought was funny.

When she blinked, Buffy and the demon were gone, and only Jonathan was standing in the middle of Giles' living room. He was looking at her expectantly.

“Uh, yeah. Uranium power core. Got it.”

“Ok. Good.” Jonathan glanced at his watch. “I'm playing the Bronze again tonight, so I have to get moving. Who am I going to see there?”

Willow, Tara, Riley, Anya and Xander's hands all shot into the air.

Faith and Giles traded glances.

“I, uh, believe I'll stay in to do some reading,” the latter hedged.

“And I really should patrol.”

Jonathan gave her a smile that was just short of patronizing. “By yourself?”

Faith shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Why not? I'm not looking to start a fight with Adam, but this other monster that's running around--”

“You don't have to worry about that,” Jonathan said quickly. “I'll take care of it.” He moved to where she sat on the arm of the couch and gave her a kiss on the forehead, stretching a bit to reach it. “You just make sure you stick to vampires, and leave the big monsters to me, ok? I don't want you getting hurt.”

She nodded, acquiescing. “I'll make it short. Then I'll see if I can find that missing phone number. You know, for some slayer girl talk.”

This answer seemed to be acceptable to everyone, and Jonathan soon left the apartment with excited Scoobies on his heels.

Faith didn't speak again until she and Giles were alone. “It doesn't make sense,” she whispered, still staring at the door they'd closed behind them.

Giles didn't look up from the page of notes he'd taken during Jonathan's briefing. “I'm inclined to agree. How was Walsh able to get a uranium power unit here without anyone of a higher rank or position asking questions?”

“Not Adam. Everything else.”

He put down the notes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean _all_ of us losing the phone number to B's place in Chicago. At the same time.”

“It happens. I'm sure it will turn up soon enough. Meanwhile, Buffy is getting a few days of none of us interrupting her studies, for which I'm sure she's grateful.”

“Including Riley.”

“Well, yes, of course. But I'm sure his interruptions are no more cumbersome than the rest of --”

“But why is he one of us? Where did he even come from?”

Giles moved into her line of sight, pulling her focus from the door. “From the Initiative, of course. He's been a valuable resource... Faith, are you feeling alright?”

She looked up, locking her eyes on his. “Why is this random Initiative dude hanging out with us, Giles? Did he just -out of nowhere- decide he'd join Team Slayer when his job went sideways, without being close buds with any of us? It doesn't make sense.”

“You've been saying that a lot.”

“Because a lot of stuff isn't jiving. I'm telling you, man, something's off. I saw some stuff last night, stuff that doesn't match up to what I woke up to.”

“You had a slayer dream?”

She looked away. “I don't know for sure. I just know things were different. I woke up _knowing_ me and B helped Jonathan organize the students to take down Wilkins, but _feeling_ like I wasn't even there.”

Giles looked toward the desk drawer in which he kept the letters Buffy had been sending him from Northwestern, remembering a reminder to listen to Faith's dreams. “A dream of a different reality, perhaps? I can look into it for you.”

“Thanks.” She stood up. “I need to get out for a while, try to think this through.” She rubbed at a spot on her abdomen on her way to the door.

“Are you sure you're alright?”

“Yeah. I just remember pain there. Not sure why.”

“I'll see what I can learn.”

She nodded and walked out, leaving Giles looking after her, his forehead creased in concern.

In an effort to settle his mind, he opened the drawer where Buffy's letters were kept, intending on rereading her words about slayer dreams. Inside, he found an unfamiliar jewelers box bound closed with red tape, and a stack of notes about the apparently dangerous object contained therein.

The letters he remembered receiving from Buffy were missing. All of them. There was not so much as a torn envelope left to indicate they'd ever been there. He suddenly found himself sharing in the feeling of things not making sense.

He rushed out to the courtyard, calling out to his charge, “Faith! I need you to tell me more about this dream.”

*~*~*

_Today_

_Sunnydale_

Tara opened her dorm room door and nodded in greeting to her guest, not the least bit surprised at who had knocked.

Faith strolled into the room and took a seat at the foot of the bed. “Where's your girl?”

“Across the hall, taking a shower. She's... frustrated.”

“Makes sense. She wanted to do one big, flashy spell, and have roses thrown at her feet for the results. Maybe not literal roses, but at least a rush of hugs and 'thank yous.' ...But that's not what we got.”

Tara winced at this statement.

“You know I'm right, T. I get it. She was trying to bring her best friend back from a place she thought was a hell dimension. She was trying to be a hero.” Faith sighed and looked down at her hands in her lap. “Thing is, there are no heroes here. Will's gonna have to see that, gonna have to accept that... what you guys did tonight wasn't even _right_ , let alone worth getting roses over.”

Tara dropped into her desk chair. “I know,” she whispered. “Now, I mean. We didn't...”

“That's why I came by. It was Joyce's call, not telling you guys. Not mine. But maybe I shouldn't have come down so hard on Will for thinking she was right, and sticking to her guns about it. I kinda get that, too. The truth got sprung on her without any time for her to figure out how to deal.” Faith glanced toward the door, indicating the bathroom across the hall. “Mind if I stay long enough to say so?”

The wince returned. “Maybe you shouldn't. I-I mean, it's a nice gesture, and I know apologies don't come easy for you, but...” She sighed. “I'm not sure she's ready for that. She still thinks... Well...”

Faith frowned at the book Tara handed her, which had been sitting open on the desk. “What does 'memory cleansing' mean, exactly?”

“It's designed to erase the trauma of foreign influences. L-l-like brainwashing, mind altering magic... or extra dimensional travel.”

Faith muttered a string of curses under her breath. “She wants to take away nine years.”

“She wants to _help,_ Faith. She-- She wants her friend back. Happy and normal, and not resenting us for bringing her back to her old life.”

“You tell her this is the wrong way to play it?”

Tara managed a weak smile. “Why do you think she's so frustrated?”

Faith closed the book and slipped it into the back of her waistband as she stood up. “Tell her to save her energy for opening a portal to Rasheen.”

Tara bit her lip as Faith's jacket was settled over the stolen book, effectively masking it. “I-I already did, but... You're right about her needing time to get used to all this, to Buffy being different. If we give her a few days, maybe...”

“Four months,” Faith said emphatically, not hearing the dorm room door open behind her. “That's how long they'll be missing from their lives if Willow keeps them here for just a week. _Four months_ , T. Ask Giles if you want the math on how that breaks down, but it's safe to say they've already been missing for _days._ Talk some sense into her, will you? 'Cause if Willow decides she's gonna make B and her vamp hostages, she and I are gonna have a serious problem. I haven't spent the last six months busting my ass to try to stay on the straight and narrow, just to end up harboring a kidnapper on my team.”

“Then maybe I'm not on _your_ team.”

Faith turned around to face an angry Willow, standing in the doorway, wrapped in a towel. “So you're admitting to holding them hostage? Miss High and Mighty, who never stops riding me about _my_ crimes, is a criminal, too?”

Willow glared. “I'm sorry, I forgot about that time I held a knife to your throat. Oh, wait...”

Faith refused to take the bait. “I guess you thought you'd save that move for your _best friend_.”

She pushed past Willow and marched down the hall, pointedly ignoring Willow's sputters of self-defense.

Willow slammed the door behind her and threw off her towel. “Selfish bitch.” She stomped across the room to the dresser, and continued to rant as she put on her pajamas. “All this time, and she hasn't changed even one teensy, tiny bit. She's still exactly the same person she was before she got all that 'coma and slayer dream clarity.' Power hungry. She can't stand for a minute the idea that we're going to get Buffy back to normal, and put all this behind us, because Faith won't get to be the one-and-only Chosen One anymore. And that's _all_ she's ever wanted.”

“I-I don't think th-that's quite true.” Tara bit her lip as her girlfriend turned to stare at her, and nearly backed down from saying anything else, but Faith's reminder about the severity of the time distortion pushed her past her hesitation. “M-Maybe everyone wants what's best for Buffy? And, sweetie, Faith knows more about what that is than we do.”

“Faith barely _knows_ her at all. You weren't there, Tara. You can't know. Even before they were basically trying to kill each other, Faith was pulling Buffy down to her level, trying to make sure there wasn't a better slayer than her, probably. Cutting school, turning slaying into some kind of team sport, ditching her friends... She wasn't trying to get to know her. She was trying to _ruin_ her.”

Tara frowned at the hints of jealousy she heard in Willow's voice, but her stuttering attempt at a response was cut off.

“Hey! Where's my book?”

It took several attempts to get the words out. “Faith took it.”

Willow stared at her girlfriend, her eyes wide with disbelief. “And you _let_ her just walk out with it? Tara! That book is my ticket to fixing this!”

“N-No. It isn't.” Tara swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of that accusatory stare. “There are no portal spells in it.”

Willow's jaw dropped open. When she finally found words, they came out in a shocked whisper. “I thought you were better than that... I thought you weren't one of those people who... You really want to send away my best friend?”

“Oh, sweetie! No! Not like that! I-I I'm not trying to keep you from your friend. I j-just think, if Buffy wants to keep her new life, I mean, it's only right...”

“Tara, her 'new life' is living in some kind of hell dimension as some kind of soldier... with _Spike._ You don't understand--”

Tara's voice strengthened as both women's volume rose. “I understand that we messed up, Willow. It's not our fault. We didn't know. But that doesn't mean we aren't responsible. We have to fix it.”

“That's what the book was for!”

“No, the book was to _hide_ it, not fix it. They aren't the same things. Sweetie, you know I'm right. You know we _have_ to respect her wishes. That place... That place is Buffy's home now.”

“It's not supposed to be!”

Tara picked up a book from a stack on the floor beside the nightstand, sending Wesley's suggested reading list fluttering to the floor. “One of these should have what we need, now that we know the destination, and have access to objects from the dimension in question to focus through.” She held the book out in offer. “Help me look?”

Willow went back to staring at her in disbelief. After a long minute, still lacking words to express her shock, she turned toward her bookshelf and began scanning the titles of her own spell book collection.

Tara lowered the offered book. “I see.”

“Apparently not,” Willow mumbled, without turning back to face her.

Something in her dismissive attitude felt achingly familiar, and Tara responded in an equally familiar way.

Willow turned away from the bookshelf at the sounds of books and clothes being thrown into an overnight bag, failing in her attempt to feign disinterest in her girlfriend's actions. “What are you doing?”

“Getting away,” Tara mumbled as she wiped her tears with her sleeve. “I have to... I can't stay. Not tonight.”

“You're leaving? You can't-- I mean... why?” Willow tightly clenched the book she'd chosen from the shelf, trying to express her anger and hurt somewhere other than her face. It didn't quite work. Tears were already welling up. “It's just a little fight. It will be ok tomorrow. ...Right?”

“I-I'm not sure. I just know...” Tara struggled to find the right words. “Since my mom died, no one has cared about what I have to say, what I think about magic, what I think about what I--” She stopped herself abruptly, giving Willow an opening she wanted.

“Hey! I care! I listen! I just think you're wrong about this, that maybe Faith's gotten into your head or something. What did she say to you, anyway?”

“That she owed you an apology. A-a-and I think I talked her out of it.”

Willow found her expression of stunned disbelief returning.

Tara sniffled. “I didn't mean to. But maybe it should mean something that I could do that on accident. M-maybe it wouldn't have happened if you'd listened to me about that memory cleansing spell before she even got here.” She closed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Maybe I _still_ don't have someone who cares what I say.”

The door was open by the time Willow found her voice. “Tara? Baby? You aren't leaving me? … Are you?”

“I just need to think about things tonight, ok? I'll see you tomorrow.”

On receiving a nod, Tara left the dorm room, and closed the door behind her. Once alone in the hall, she leaned against the wall while she swiped at her tears with her sleeve again, and tried to figure out where she could go.

Inside, Willow wiped away tears, too. As she returned to her reading, her expression shifted into one of resolve. “It's ok,” she whispered, scanning the table of contents. “I can fix this, too.”

*~*~*

_Four months, one week ago_

_Sunnydale_

A girl of about twelve years old answered the door. “Hi?”

Faith gave her a smile. “Hey, kiddo. I'm going to guess Jonathan is your big brother?”

The girl's eyes widened. “You're here to see _Jonny?_ ”

“Yeah. Is he home?”

The girl turned and shouted down the hall. “Jonny! There's a girl here to see you!”

“Very funny,” came a familiar voice from behind a closed door.

“There really is! She's pretty, too!”

Faith chuckled. “Thanks, kid.”

“I'm not falling for it, Candace! Give it up!”

Faith raised her voice to the same volume as Candace's. “I'm more real than you are!”

“Crap.” The door opened, and a shame-faced Jonathan stepped into Faith's line of vision. “I, uh, guess we need to talk, huh?”

“ _Oh_ , yeah.”

Candace looked back and forth between them, then ran for the kitchen. “Mom! Jonny's finally got a girlfriend! But I think they've had a fight!”

Jonathan trudged up the hall and stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind him. “Sorry about that.”

“You've got a hell of a lot more than a nosy kid sis to apologize for.”

“I know.” He kept his gaze firmly on the porch floor. “I didn't get anyone killed, did I?”

“Not as far as I know. I'd ask what the hell you were thinking, but it's pretty obvious.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I planned out a big speech. All about how you can't just jump to the happy ending on your life story, how you gotta work for it first, and make amends when you fuck up, instead of disappearing until it blows over, because it never really does if you don't make the effort... All the stuff I'm trying to sort out for myself, you know? But now that you're in front of me, I kinda just wanna smack the shit out of you and call it a day.”

“I get that. I mean, I don't really know what you're talking about, with you, but the smacking part...”

“Look at me,” she commanded.

He obeyed, albeit slowly.

“You can't do this shit, man. You just _can't._ You're screwing with dangerous powers, and with _everyone's_ lives, just to make yourself feel better. It doesn't work. Trust me on that. You still felt like shit when you were in your everyone's-invited-fantasy-land, and you still feel like shit now, yeah?”

He nodded.

“'Cause there's no one thing that's gonna fix it, whatever _it_ is. Life's a slog sometimes, man. It's just trying to live a little better, one day to the next, and hoping you end up with a decent life when all the little stuff starts piling up. I can't tell you if that actually works out. I'm in the slog, too. I just know you gotta try.”

“I'm not sure where to start.”

“One friend. That's all you need to get started. I had one friend who was willing to give me one more second chance, and I decided not to waste it. Now I have a few friends, a few people who think I'm worth putting up with while I figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life.”

“Was Buffy your one friend?”

“How'd you guess?”

“You're hanging out with her friends. I know my opinion doesn't count for much, but I think you're fitting in ok.”

Faith snorted. “Some days.” She studied him for a minute. “You got someone in mind?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Give it a shot. And lay off the magic fix-its, alright? Use that mojo to help other people, and don't use it at all if you aren't sure that's what you're doing. Abusing the power you've been given... It doesn't lead anywhere good, man. I promise.” She started down the porch steps, but stopped when he called out to her.

“Faith?”

“Yeah?”

“Buffy... She didn't go away to college, did she?”

“No.”

“Where is she?”

“Somewhere else, living her own second chance.”

*~*~*

_Today_

_Bwarlac City_

Sean Waters turned his copy of the key in the lock and let himself into the apartment, with Jenny Crowfoot and her Katyan close behind.

“I've never been in their place when they weren't here,” Claren Hammet whispered, following his Katyan to the living room. “It feels wrong.”

“I have,” Sean said, dropping the mail on a table on his way to the kitchen. “Pretty often, actually. Anytime he's going to be gone for a weekend on a job, and she has nothing going on here, she takes off to visit friends, and asks me to stop by to bring in the mail and newspapers, since I live so close. A lot of weekends they're both available, they run off visiting together.”

Jenny laughed as she followed him. “I've never known either of them to be very good at sitting still.” She wrinkled her nose as she entered the kitchen. “What is that smell?”

“Three day old Marlegian pasta sauce,” Sean answered, gesturing to the garbage can in the corner. “I dumped it and washed the pot when I stopped by yesterday, but now I think the trash needs to go out. Check the refrigerator. See what else needs to go.”

Jenny did as she was asked, while Sean began to inspect the contents of the fruit bowl on the counter.

In the living room, Claren turned on the television, hoping to shake the eerie feeling of an apartment without its proper occupants. “Katyan,” he called toward the kitchen. “There's a prompt on the television screen, asking to confirm recording of some time slots on the New Salem Sports channel.”

“Hit yes!” she answered fervently. “Spike will kill you if he can't catch up on his football matches when he gets home.”

Claren confirmed the scheduled recordings, and began to surf through other channels, in search of some comforting background noise.

In the kitchen, perishables were being tossed in the trash.

“They _are_ coming home, aren't they?” Jenny added in a low whisper.

“Of course they are.” Sean made an effort to sound confident. “It's probably just taking them a while to find a witch who can do it. I don't think Terra'bo has a leading coven everyone can go to, like we do. Or maybe they haven't had time to. I know time moves slower there. How much slower, exactly...” He shrugged.

“Well _I_ think the Frandrey should be using _their_ witches to fix this, instead of sitting on their hands!” Jenny leaned back against the counter. “This is ridiculous, Sean. All that magic, right there on the base, and they're doing _nothing._ I'm starting to have some serious second thoughts about who it is we ultimately work for.” She gestured to him. “And _you_ should consider getting out of uniform.”

“Maybe they're just trying to get everything organized before they launch a rescue op, Jenn. You don't need to quit civil service over it. Spike and the captain will be portaled back onto base any day now. Just wait.”

“If they're planning a rescue, why haven't _you_ been called to help?”

“Because no one on base but the two of us knows I'm anything but an absolute greenhorn of a corporal, assigned to guard a desk officer.”

“Who once took a long weekend in Port Shelby with your captain, where the two of you were completely off the grid, and not seen in Port Shelby at all,” she countered. “Someone _had_ to have figured it out, Sean. The timing was suspicious, at least.”

“If any of the Frandrey brass ever found out, they didn't say so to me. Or to Buffy. And clearly not to Thurmond, or you'd have gotten your wish of seeing me go civilian long before you made it.” He pulled the garbage bag closed. “Come on, let's get out of here. It's getting late, and you two are paying a sitter.”

She held up a hand. “One more thing: did you happen to get phone numbers for any of those fellows?”

He shook his head. “Why?”

Jenny looked toward the hallway, indicating the bedrooms. “I wonder where Spike would keep that information...”

“Probably on his phone, which I'm fairly certain is in Terra'bo. Jenn, tell me you're not thinking of starting something on your own.”

“I have _one_ phone number that could be useful, but I'd like to wait to call it until I have something to offer besides begging an old man for help.” A thought occurred to her. “Wait. We have _her_ phone.”

“No, the Colonel and the investigation team have her phone. In three separate bags. It's evidence.”

“Chea. I forgot they took it.” She again looked toward the hall. “Maybe just a _little_ snooping?”

Sean sighed. “Jenn, I really think we should hold off for a couple more day--”

“Katyan! Get in here!”

They rushed to the living room to see what had gotten Claren's attention.

The television was turned to a newscast. The banner across the bottom of the screen read 'Bwarlac Base Magical Attack.'

“Laba chea,” Sean whispered as they watched the coverage. “It's leaked.”

Jenny crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, that's _one_ way to get the Frandrey off their hands.”

“Tell me you didn't...”

“Of course not. But I'm not exactly upset about it.”


	17. Dough Girls

_**Chapter 17: Dough Girls** _

_Today_

_Sunnydale_

Faith closed the door behind her, dumped the book she carried onto the foyer table, and made a beeline for the kitchen, where a note on the refrigerator door interrupted her usual evening kitchen rummage.

_Faith-_

_I'm taking Buffy and Spike grocery shopping, to get a few things they can't easily get at home. We won't be gone long. Don't fill up on snacks and leftovers. We plan on making a late dinner when we get back._

_-Joyce_

“Dude, I don't think I can wait that long,” she said to the note as she opened the refrigerator door.

Just then, she heard the familiar sound of Joyce's Jeep pulling into the driveway. Closing the refrigerator, she followed the sounds of car doors slamming out onto the porch. “Hey!” she called out to one of the women in the driveway. “Look who's been raiding my closet!”

Buffy held the shopping bags in her hands out beside her and spun around, showing off her borrowed outfit. “It was either this or my musty old clothes from storage boxes in the basement. It's not too young for me, is it?”

“Probably. At your age, maybe you need a button up cardigan to go with it. And those glasses with the necklace attached to the back of 'em.”

Buffy stuck her tongue out at her fellow slayer as her party approached the porch. “I'm _twenty-_ eight, Faith. Not _sixty-_ eight.”

Faith shrugged as she lifted a shopping bag from Joyce's hand. “Washes out the same, in slayer time. You're a dinosaur, B.” She peeked into the bag. “What's for dinner, Joyce? I'm star-- What's with all the curry powder?”

Spike immediately traded bags with her. “That one's mine. Mostly. There's a jar of straight turmeric for the Importation Research Board to study. If I'm lucky, they'll come up with a better substitute by the time the rest of this runs out. Something a touch less... neon.”

Buffy shook her head as she passed Faith at the door. “Don't ask.”

Faith followed them inside. “Why don't you just take one of the plants back with you? Don't herbs and stuff all come from plants?”

“Something in the soil doesn't work quite right for certain Terra'bo plants,” Spike explained as the group moved to the kitchen. “Can't get ginger to grow there, either. Food scientists had to scrape together other herbs to create a similar flavor. Figure they can do the same with this. And if anyone's wondering why there are no Indians in Rasheen, there's your bloody answer.”

Faith stared at Spike, her eyes squinted, brow furrowed, and mouth slightly open. “B,” she said slowly, “what the hell is wrong with that vampire, and why does it sound like a cooking show?”

“I told you not to ask. And for the record, there _are_ a few people of Indian ancestry in Rasheen.”

“They must really like pink,” Joyce said with a giggle. “Now, as for tonight's meal--”

“I'm starved, Joyce. Don't think I can wait for Julia Child and his curry powder to work their magic. Anyone up for pizza?”

Buffy glanced at Spike. “Sure, but...”

“Don't say it,” he warned. “Just this once, _don't_ say it.”

She visibly twitched. “But I have to. And you know it's true.”

To Joyce and Faith he explained, “Seven years since we moved out of the capital, and she hasn't put a single bloody slice in her mouth without saying it at least once.” He looked to Buffy again, who was biting her lip in an attempt to restrain herself. He sighed. “Fine. Get it out of your system.”

“It won't be as good as Jerome's.”

*~*~*

_Seven years, ten months ago_

_Sixth Street Pizza, Vereen City_

“Next order up! One large hurla and peppers. One medium chicken, jalapeno, and … pineapple?” The new sous chef shook his head. “My mother was right. I never should have moved to the city. These people are _strange._ ”

The chef laughed as he brushed by him on his way out of the kitchen. “Tell your mother it's a special case. She's an off-worlder. I'll be back in two minutes. Start the next order. I'll make this one.”

“Who's an off-worlder?”

“Sweet and spicy chicken,” the chef answered over his shoulder. “There's only one person in this entire city who orders that pie.”

As soon as the kitchen doors swung open, Buffy jumped to her feet and rushed across the dining room to greet him. “Jerome! Guess who passed _all_ her first term exams?”

He shoved his apron to the side of his large belly to limit the flour transfer to her when they hugged. “Congratulations, my girl! Halfway there!”

“If you love me, you'll get me your best work tonight, to celebrate.” She gestured over her shoulder to her table as the hug broke. “And maybe show off your skills to our friend on the other pizza?”

“Can do.” Jerome looked over to the table she'd indicated, and gave Spike a wave while frowning at the stranger seated with him. “Who is the big fellow, anyway? We don't get a lot of Rasheeni in here.”

“Spike's boss. He's a lot nicer than he looks.” She took his hand. “Come over and meet him.”

He let himself be led across the dining room. “Just for a moment. I've got pies to get in the oven, starting with yours.”

“In that case, I promise I won't keep you.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly as the stranger rose to his full intimidating height, standing up to greet them. “Jerome, this is Persheth. Persh, this walking masterpiece is the man of my dreams.”

Spike shook his head. “You see what I have to put up with?” he asked Persh.

Jerome chuckled and straightened his apron. “I've always had a way with the ladies. Can't help it.”

“Yeah, well, _I_ cook for her, too. But _you_ get all the fawning.”

Buffy grinned at the man beside her. “He's cute when he's jealous, isn't he?” she stage whispered.

Persh frowned at Spike, uncertain how seriously to take his irritated expression. “'Cute' may not be the right word.”

“Oh, it definitely is.” Buffy stretched to give Jerome a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for coming out. I really wanted to share the news with you.”

“It was worth sharing.” he returned the kiss, dropping it on her forehead. “I told you you were smart enough to pull it off, didn't I?” He turned to address the table. “Fellows, if you'll excuse me, there's a certain cadet here who's earned some extra cheese on her pizza.”

“Thank you, gorgeous!” Buffy called after him when he broke her grip on him to turn back toward the kitchen.

“Anything for my girl!” he called back.

Persheth resumed his seat when Buffy settled back into hers. “I thought it was a joke.”

“It is,” Spike assured him. “ _Someone_ just likes to make a big show of it.”

Buffy feigned confusion. “What show? I'm just keeping my options open.”

“You'll pay for this later, Slayer,” Spike threatened in a near growl.

She countered with a wide grin. “I'm counting on it. ...Persh, how would you feel about taking a walk to the park at the end of the plaza after we eat?”

“Is there something special about it? Most plaza parks look more or less like most others.”

“This one is going to be the scene of a sparring match.” She glanced at Spike's sour expression. “Probably a really good one.”

*~*~*

_Today_

_Sunnydale_

“Ok, you got me on the jalapeno and pineapple thing. It actually works.” Faith took another bite of her second slice of pizza and watched Buffy from across the table while she chewed. “So what do you think?”

“That I'd give just about anything to be in my office right now,” Buffy murmured, not looking up from the stolen book in front of her. “I could pick up the phone and have the base witches in front of me in five minutes, either their office or mine.”

Spike leaned away from where he'd been reading over her shoulder. “Hell with that. I'd go straight to Polly. These days, she's got the juice to have a restraint warrant issued immediately. No Frandrey base witch can do _that._ ”

“I'm pretty sure you guys not having a way to reach your own witches is the problem.” Faith wiped her fingers on a napkin and slid the book over to Joyce, so she could have some idea of what they were talking about. “I went over there to try to smooth things out, you know? Thought maybe it would get her off her ass and working on a portal spell a little sooner. I didn't expect her to be looking the other direction.”

“But her friend -Tara? -She seems like she wasn't.”

“Girlfriend,” Faith corrected.

“Oh, sorry. I didn't remember...” Buffy looked to Spike. “Did we know Willow was shay-larin?”

He shrugged. “Not that I recall.”

“If that means, 'gay,' or 'bi,' or whatever, you didn't forget. It's kind of a new thing. They just started seeing each other a month before you two bailed out, and didn't say so until after.”

“Oh. Ok.” Buffy took a bite of her pizza. “So anyway, you think her girl is more willing to help us?”

“Definitely. You'll like T. She's the quiet one in the bunch, but she's got a good head on her shoulders. Heart in the right place, and all that jazz. She's feeling pretty guilty about messing with you two like this, I think. Wants to fix it.”

“Maybe she should begin with her girlfriend,” Joyce muttered, pushing the book away from her. “Willow was always the smart, sensible one. But this, this memory wiping... This is reckless, selfish, cruelty.” She pushed the book further away, visibly disgusted.

Buffy's eyebrows went up. “Mom?”

Joyce waved away her concern. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I don't mean it. I'm just very disappointed in her right now.”

“Kiss of death,” Buffy murmured, leaning back in her chair.

“Oh, yeah,” Faith agreed. “Every time _I_ get the D-word, I start planning how I'll break it to Giles he's getting a permanent couch surfer.”

“Could she do it? Without Willow, I mean? Is she powerful enough to open a portal on her own?”

“Don't think so,” Faith said around another mouthful of pizza. “But if it's just a matter of mojo, I might be able to bring someone in to give her a boost. Thing is, we need a 'how' first, and Willow's got all the right books for finding it.”

The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the front door. Spike waved off Joyce's attempt to stand, as he was seated closer to the entrance. “I got it. You birds see to your supper.”

The woman standing on the porch had a heavy-looking bag over her shoulder and a tear-streaked face. “H-h-hi. We kinda met at the mansion...”

“Tara, aren't you?”

She nodded, and the tears started flowing again. “I n-need to see Faith. Willow... She doesn't want to send you back. Sh-she thinks I'm trying to keep her best friend away from her. She just _won't_ listen. I-I know she means well, but she isn't hearing me _at all_. I thought she cared about me, and we were getting serious... Maybe I assumed too much.”

Spike gestured for her to come inside, and closed the door behind her. “Sorry to rock your boat, pet.”

*~*~*

_Seven years, five months ago_

_Vereen City_

Spike frowned at his phone, not recognizing the number on the display. “Hello?”

“Afternoon, Spike. This is Jerome, down at Sixth Street Pizza. The boss said you made a group res for the night of the 26th, and asked for me to call you about it in advance. Should I expect you to be bringing your giant Rasheeni friend and his big appetite back into the shop?”

“Different Rasheeni friends, actually. Mixed group. But that's not what I wanted to talk about.”

“Yeah? What's the story?”

“The 26th is Buffy's graduation night. I was hoping we might be able to arrange something special. Can't surprise her with the place we're celebrating. No question on that. But once she's in there...”

“Hmm... Maybe a surprise dessert?”

“Yeah, I was hoping for something like that. Anything with chocolate is a safe bet. You need any special ingredients, I'll get 'em to you.”

“No need. The dessert will be my graduation gift. She's earned it. An off-worlder making officer less than two years through the portal is no mean feat. What's her class ranking going to be?”

“Once she finishes exams, she'll end up in the top fifteen percent. Doesn't look like she's quite gonna make top ten.”

“Still a lot to be proud of. So what are _you_ getting her for graduation?”

“Besides setting up this pizza party?” Spike sighed. “I haven't a bloody clue.”

“Then go for the obvious, friend. Ask the girl to call you Leikat.”

There was an awkward silence.

Jerome barely stifled a laugh. “Come on, Spike! You don't honestly think there's anything to all her flirting with me, do you? We're only having fun.”

“It's not that. You're not the one she's going home with once her belly's full.”

“Exactly. Which is why I'm wondering... It came up a month or so ago. She had a chat with some crotchety neighbor of yours, and he put her on the spot about it.”

“What'd she tell him?”

“She said you were. Mostly to shut him up, I think. But it doesn't mean anything unless you two are saying it to each other.”

“Things are fine as they are, Jerome. No need to complicate it with other people's customs. Buffy knows this.”

“Buffy's working herself half to death trying to _not_ be 'other people,'” Jerome countered. “Trying to be _someone_ in this society. You're working for that giant Rasheeni brute you brought in here, and calling other Rasheenis your friends, besides. And don't think she hasn't told me about you two practicing conversational Rasheeni at home. You're both assimilating, Spike. Are you telling me you want to stop halfway?”

“I'm telling you I don't want to rock the bloody boat.”

“But she's someone you could see yourself with for the long haul?”

“Obviously.”

“And you think it's mutual?”

“Most days.”

“Ultimately, that's all Leikat truly means. And I -for one- am getting tired of referring to you as her 'fellow' when I talk to her, when she and I both know that making your relationship sound so casual is an insult to it. I've seen the way she looks at you, even when she's blatantly flirting with me. It isn't casual, Spike.”

“A lot of ground between 'casual' and 'Leikat,' Jerome.”

“Ground you two had already left behind you by the time I met her, I think. If this were anywhere close to casual, you wouldn't have asked me to call you about surprise desserts. That's the kind of thing Leikats and Katyans do, not casual couples, or roommates, or whatever other stories you two have been telling yourselves. Trust me. I've been in the restaurant business a long time. I know _exactly_ how people say 'I love you' with food.”

There was another brief silence. “Heavy on the chocolate, Jerome.”

“I thought so. I'll see you and your Leikat on the 26th.”

*~*~*

_Today_

_Sunnydale_

Spike dropped Tara's bag onto the sideboard. “There's your 'how,' Slayer. You wanna fill us in on your source for extra mojo?”

“Not yet. Like I said, it's a maybe. And sorry, man, but it's not the only priority.” She nodded to Tara, who was still dabbing her eyes with a tissue as she returned to the dining room. “You feeling a little better, T? Up for some pizza?”

Tara accepted the plate Joyce offered her with a grateful smile. “Yes. Thank you.” She looked askance at the chicken pizza, then took two slices from the other box. “I'm so sorry for b-barging in on you like this. I know this whole thing--” She gestured to Buffy and Spike. “--is a mess, and I'm just making it w-w-w-worse.”

“Not if you can help us get home,” Spike muttered.

Faith glared at him. “Would you give it a rest for five minutes? I know you guys are on a time crunch, but I've got one witch clutching at tissues and the other one going off the deep end, here.”

Buffy stood up from the table, taking her empty plate and Coke can with her. “She's not wrong, Katyan.”

Spike followed her to the kitchen. “Love, I don't like putting all our eggs in a basket full of bickering witches,” he said in Rasheeni.

“Neither do I,” she responded in kind. “But it's only been what? Five hours since we got here? Willow just needs a little time to get her head straight, to stop fantasizing about turning back time in my brain and realize that...” She sighed as she looked around her mother's kitchen. “...we don't belong here.”

*~*~*

_Seven years, five months ago_

_Vereen City_

Spike felt out of place amid the cluster of crimson-trimmed grey dress uniforms seated around him. Most of the other civilians in the crowd were in clusters of their own, family and friends, with a smattering of uniforms from the various military branches mixed in. His group was the only one with the reverse dynamic.

Corporal Della Shine gave him a subtle poke in the ribs. “Stop fidgeting so much,” she whispered.

“This is taking all bloody day!” he whispered back.

On his other side, Lt. Colonel Pete Samuels leaned close to whisper, “Almost there, friend. They'll start the Frandrey class after the next speech.”

On the stage, someone tapped Buffy on the shoulder, and the card that would soon be read for her was held in front of her. “How should the general pronounce this, Cadet?”

Buffy couldn't help but smile. “Los Angeles, sir,” she whispered slowly, making an effort to enunciate.

“Los Angeles,” the young lieutenant repeated to verify.

“If she isn't comfortable trying to say it, tell her she can say 'Sunnydale' instead. No one will be offended.”

“Thank you, Cadet.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lieutenant disappeared from the stage as quietly as he'd arrived, and the off-worlder in the Frandrey class turned her attention back to the graduating Navy class.

When the last of the Navy class had been promoted, and the aging Frandrey General had finished her speech for the class of which she had charge, Buffy and her classmates rose from their seats and lined up. One by one, they moved to center stage, to be officially promoted by General West, and celebrated by the crowd.

“Officer Cadet April Jane Stanford of Corris Ridge, I hereby promote you...”

Spike turned to stare at the normally stoic man seated behind him, who was cheering loudly in his ear.

Dravon of Corris Ridge quieted with a shrug. “I went to school with her father.”

General West's voice drew their attention back to the stage. “Officer Cadet Buffy Anne Summers of Los Angeles, I hereby promote you to the rank of Second Lieutenant in Her Majesty's Frandrey forces.”

The shout Dravon had given for a near stranger was nothing compared to the cheer that erupted then from the entire group.

Their collective noise was, however, enough to draw the attention of the other attendees, and Spike quieted as soon as he felt hundreds of eyes focusing on the one civilian of their number.

“Anyone else feel like they're on stage, too?” he grumbled to Della.

“Maybe you should have worn something grey?” she suggested with a grin.

“Not my color.”

“Yeah, I guess it would kind of make you look dead.” While Spike rolled his eyes, she threw an arm across his shoulders and added, “If you want a laugh, look at it from my side: As of now, I'm supposed to call Buffy 'sir.' And so is Tray. Isn't that a riot?”

“It's strange,” Tray said from his seat beside Dravon. “Neela is going to get a giggle out of it, though.”

“It's well-earned,” Dravon countered as they stood up to cheer for the Frandrey class as a whole. “And _she_ looks good in grey, at least.”

“That was the idea,” Pete said with a satisfied smile while he clapped. “And old General West is in agreement on my plans for her.”

Spike turned to raise an eyebrow at the colonel.

“Buffy will be getting her orders for a Joint Services post next week. The Frandrey just hired itself a fine guard against the Admiralty's ambitions.”

Across the auditorium, freshly promoted Lieutenant Summers filed off the stage with the rest of the Frandrey class, and was tapped on the shoulder by the general's aide again as soon as she was out of public view.

“Did she pronounce it correctly?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

The young lieutenant gave the new insignia on her shoulder a friendly pat. “You don't have to call me 'sir' anymore, Summers. You're one of us now.”

*~*~*

_Sunnydale_

_Today_

Joyce stepped into her kitchen, bringing the quiet, foreign conversation to a halt. “Sorry to interrupt, but I thought I needed to give them a little privacy. Apparently, Willow and Tara's relationship has been strained for quite a while. This incident may just be the proverbial last straw on the camel's back.”

Buffy leaned back against the sink and crossed her arms over her chest. “What worries me is that I'm the whole hay bale. I didn't think about it, about how Willow would cope. And it kinda looks like she hasn't.”

“What could you have done, short of giving everything up?” Spike asked.

“I don't know. But maybe there was a middle ground, something between us disappearing forever and rushing back here right after the war.”

Joyce threw a concerned look at Spike's downward gaze and stiff posture. “Honey, you don't mean to say you wish you had come back when you first could, do you?”

Buffy echoed her mother's glance. “I made the right choice,” she said quietly. “I know that. But maybe there should have been a visit. Or more letters. Or both. Something to convince Willow that the only thing I ever needed rescuing from was myself.” She tilted her head back to look at the ceiling. “Ugh. I think I need to take a walk. My brain is full.”

“Might want to grab a weapon on the way,” Spike suggested. “Doubt Sunnydale's changed all that much in six months.”

“I guess I should borrow a stake or something. Back in an hour or two.” She gave him a quick kiss on her way out of the room. “Stay out of trouble.”

“Never,” he called after her.

When they were alone, Joyce said, “I know it's probably none of my business, but what did she mean?”

“'Less I miss my guess, the time between a cold, wet night on the Nor'freen River and the sound of temple bells ringing in our ears.”

*~*~*

_Seven years, five months ago_

_Sixth Street Pizza, Vereen City_

Traygo waved his hands around frantically. “Shh! Shh! Everybody! You hear that?”

“It's the temple bells, you fool,” Dravon said.

“Ring all the time 'round here,” Spike added. “Welcome to the capital, ya bumpkin.”

“ _Enlisted_ bumpkin,” Pete threw in. “If we didn't know you'd never gone to the Academy, we would now!”

Tray threw playful glares around the room, landing on the guest of honor. “Aren't you going to do anything about this?”

Buffy shrugged. “I tried doing _nothing_ about it. I was just going to quietly go back to Terra'bo, and forget I ever saw a single grey uniform, but some idiot talked me out of it.”

While all other eyes turned to Spike, misplacing the blame and showering him with comments, Buffy and Traygo kept their eyes locked on each other.

“Your fault,” she whispered, tilting her head in Spike's direction.

“You're welcome,” he countered at the same volume, grinning proudly.

“Isn't it past time we opened these gifts?” Della asked as she refilled her pint glass from one of the pitchers.

Spike jumped to his feet. “Get started without me.”

Buffy frowned in confusion as he moved away from the table, but was quickly distracted by a small box being placed in front of her.

“Major Bradford asked me to pass this along, as well as his regrets for not being able to make it,” Pete explained, smiling broadly.

Buffy opened the gift-wrapped box, only to find an even smaller box inside. It was metal, about the size of a deck of cards, and had 'Desk Officer's Emergency Med Kit' stenciled on the top. “What the hell?”

Dravon struggled to contain his chuckles. “Open it.”

She looked around the table. “Why do I get the feeling you're all in on this?” When her friends all refused to reply, she did as asked, and found only a package of tiny bandages inside the kit, with 'Great for Papercuts!' emblazoned across the label.

The entire table collapsed into laughter.

“Ok, ok, you've had your fun.” Buffy returned the bandages to their box. “But just so you know, I hate you all.”

When Pete could catch his breath, he gestured to the gift box. “Bradford's real gift is under it.”

Buffy lifted the kit to find an envelope containing a greeting card. A gift card to a national chain of home furnishings stores fell out when she opened it. She read the note in the card aloud.

_'You'll probably be moving around a lot in the coming years, so I thought this might be helpful. I'm only sorry I couldn't be there to give it to you in person. I'll be getting my separation papers and settling into private practice soon, but for old friends, I'm always on call. Best wishes, and good luck trying to keep that vampire out of trouble. Congratulations, Lieutenant. We're all proud to know you. -Dr. John'_

She waved the card around. “See? This is sweet and supportive. Which makes me think the med kit wasn't _his_ idea.”

Slowly, all eyes drifted to Dravon.

“I should have known. It's always the quiet ones. Did you put him up to it, or just hijack his gift?”

Dravon shrugged. “I don't know what you mean, Summers. The colonel's the one who brought John's box in here.”

“You're the second least innocent looking person here, Drav. And were John's oldest friend in the 4th.”

“Who's the least?” Della asked.

“Spike, of course. He's guilty of _everything._ And generally proud of it.”

“Speaking of...” Tray pointed toward the kitchen, where Spike was coming through the swinging doors, carrying a stack of dessert plates and a fresh pitcher of beer. Behind him, Jerome was taking slow, careful steps, protecting the beautifully decorated chocolate cake he carried.

“Oh, wow,” Della whispered at the sight of the intricately swirled dark and white chocolate icing. “That fellow is wasted making pizza.”

“That baby needs candles,” Tray murmured. “Maybe the sparkler kind. Say, about 20? 25?”

Buffy rose to her feet and pushed aside her gifts, making room for the cake. “Jerome... This is _fantastic_.”

“Just my way of saying congratulations to my girl.” Jerome made sure the cake was safely on the table and then stepped back to drop a kiss on her cheek. “You're alright for an off-worlder.” He waved in greeting to her friends. “So how many of you have to call her 'sir' now?”

Tray and Della raised their hands with rueful expressions.

Jerome laughed. “That's what you get for encouraging her. That's what we all get.” He gave Buffy's cheek another kiss. “I gotta get back to the kitchen. Enjoy.”

“Thank you!” Buffy reached for the stack of plates Spike had brought. “Who wants to cut this beauty? Spike?”

Spike looked around the table. “Uh, Pete? Why don't you do the honors? I need to borrow the fresh brass for a minute.”

Curious, Buffy followed him out the front door of the pizza parlor and across the lot to their car. “What's up? Is something wrong?”

He leaned against the hood of the car and took her hands in his. “Something I've been wanting to talk to you about, and thought today was a good time, but you haven't been alone a single second all bloody day.”

She gripped his hands. “This sounds serious.”

“It is, I guess.” He looked up at the darkening sky, at the first stars of the evening coming into view. “Been a year since we decided to stay, yeah? And we're making a go of it? Learning the language, the culture, and all that?”

“Yeah...” She furrowed her brow. “Get to the point, William. You're starting to worry me.”

“Just wondering... If maybe... If we're living with them, living like them, maybe we oughta go all the way on it.”

“As in?”

“As in...” He brought his eyes back to hers. “Second Lieutenant Buffy Anne Summers, will you call me Leikat?”

*~*~*

_Today_

_Sunnydale_

“Hey, where did Mr. and Mrs. Fang slip off to?”

Joyce looked up from loading the dishwasher and accepted the dishes Faith had brought in from the dining room. “Buffy went for a walk to clear her head, and I sent Spike downstairs to look for the camp cots. With five of us, I'm not sure how we'll pull off sleeping arrangements. I assumed Tara was staying tonight.”

“Yeah, if that's alright. I know you weren't prepared for a houseful. I can go to Giles' place and crash on his couch, if you need me to.”

“No, I think we'll be alright. We have the cots, and Spike assures me he and Buffy have had ample practice sleeping on similar ones.” She sighed. “The war she talked about in her letter, probably. As much horror as I know she saw here in Sunnydale, very little of it could have been classified as 'a war.' It breaks my heart to think she could have easily walked into that situation, and never walked out.”

“Technically, she _fell_ into that situation,”

Joyce closed the dishwasher. “You aren't helping, young lady.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Faith held up her hands in surrender and backed up a step. “So what's the plan for Tara?”

“She can have the couch, or double up with one of us.”

“Where are the cots gonna be set up?”

“Spike suggested they sleep in the basement, where it will stay dark later. We'll have to be careful with blinds and curtains up here once he's awake, of course.”

“Never thought I'd be worrying about keeping a vamp _out_ of the sun, but that's life with B, I suppose. Weirdest slayer in history.”

“She'd likely take that as a compliment,” Spike said as he returned to the kitchen. “Joyce, I got the cots up and dusted off. Where's the linen closet?”

Faith interrupted the reply. “You think you and Tara could get the bed stuff sorted out without us, Joyce? I really need to have a talk with our other guest.”

“Um, yes. Of course.”

“She can crash with me if she doesn't want the couch. I'm fine with it.” Faith gestured for Spike to follow her out onto the back porch, and didn't speak again until he had closed the kitchen door behind them.

“Listen, about earlier, with Tara... I don't want you to think I'm being a bitch about all this, or trying to make you stay here longer than you gotta. You and me didn't get much of a chance to get to know each other before you left, and what Buffy knows about me is mostly the Greatest Hits of Badness. I've been working really hard to get past all of that while you've been gone, and I don't want her to think I haven't, or that I don't care about the situation you guys are in, you know?”

He shrugged. “It's fine.”

She blinked. “Really? That's it? 'It's fine?!'”

“Slayer, Buffy wasn't backing your play just to be _polite._ You pushed me back so you could see to your mate when she needed you. That's exactly what Buffy would've done, in your place.”

Faith's face lit up with a proud smile. “ _Really?_ ”

“Really.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Still tough to tell when you're making the right call sometimes, isn't it?”

“ _Oh_ , yeah.”

“I know the feeling. And that woman? She's a hard example to live up to.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But still the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Me, too.”


	18. Silver Promises

 

_**Chapter 18: Silver Promises** _

_Today_

_Sunnydale_

“It's not that I mind her raiding my closet,” Faith said as she led Spike down the basement stairs. “Except I kinda do. And since it looks like you guys might be here for a couple of days...”

“No need to rub it in, Slayer. Just show me which boxes.”

Tara looked up from the pair of camp cots she'd been dressing as the pair reached the bottom of the staircase. “I tried to make them up like one bed, b-but the way the frames stick out on the sides...” she gestured to the separately made narrow beds. “It didn't work. S-sorry, Spike.”

He shrugged it off. “A lot of nights, we aren't even in the same town, pet, let alone the same bed. Separate cots are fine. Thanks, though.”

Faith frowned at the scene. “Joyce left you to do them alone?”

“I-I offered. I'm trying to... keep busy, I guess?” Tara tapped the side of her head. “Lots of things spinning around in here.”

“I bet.” Faith pulled a box from one of the stacks beside the storage shelves, handed it to Spike, then reached for another. “You can help us fish through these, then. Bring a laundry basket with you.”

The three of them settled onto the sides of the cots, facing each other with the boxes between them and a laundry basket near the foot of the cot on which Tara sat.

“What are we looking for?” she asked.

“A couple of days worth of summer clothes for B. If we don't find everything we need in these boxes...” Faith waved to the stacks from which the first two boxes had come. “There's plenty more.”

Spike shook his head at the stacks. “I'd forgotten what a clothes horse she used to be.”

“She isn't anymore?”

“Most of her work clothes are government issue, Slayer. Doesn't take much to fill out a wardrobe when all she really needs is things for office-only days, weekends and special occasions. Even Buffy Summers can't justify a packed closet for just three days of the week.”

Faith nodded to the stacks of boxes. “See the two big boxes at the bottom? Those are just her _shoes_. You mean to tell me she doesn't have that much now?”

Spike studied the boxes in question for a moment. “Last relocation, I think she had about half that, _including_ 3 pairs of Frandrey boots.”

Tara giggled at Faith's incredulous expression. “People change, Faith.”

“Yeah, but Buffy the Fashion Junkie...”

“Grew up,” Spike finished as he opened one of the boxes. “Looks like I got the panty drawer.”

Faith looked worried. “Is this about to get weird?”

“Only if you don't think I should know what will still fit, and what she'll still like. Tara, kick that basket this way.” He nodded to the box Faith was opening as he began sorting through the piles of socks, underwear and bras that had been dumped into his box. “What'd you get?”

“Looks like closet stuff. Tops, mostly. We should find some useful stuff in here.” She looked up to find Tara staring off into space, and the laundry basket still sitting at the foot of the opposite cot. “T? Basket?”

“Oh!” Tara jumped out of her thoughts and blushed as she brought the basket closer to them. “S-s-s-Sorry. I was just thinking of Willow. I-I-I thought we were going to be like that, knowing each other well enough to pick out clothes for each other?”

“You don't now?” Spike asked as he squinted at a faded label on a sports bra. “And when was Buffy ever a large in _anything?_ ”

Faith laughed. “I guess you don't know everything, after all. Most sports bras run small.”

“And the sizing is _really_ inc-c-c- inconsistent,” Tara complained. “Why can't they use measurements for those, like they do every other bra?” She shook her head at the garment in question. “Skip it,” she recommended.

Faith nodded agreement. “It's just not worth the guessing game on the size, man. Trust me.”

When Spike continued to look like he was waiting on Tara to say something, she answered his first question with a sigh. “I don't know. I just thought... We m-m-messed up, bringing you here. That was really ob-obvious, really fast. I mean, by the time you guys left to come over here, I knew we had to undo it. It's the only r-r-right thing.” She bit her lip. “Willow was too angry about not being told everything to listen, and I thought she'd calm down when we were alone. She got calmer, but she still didn't listen. She _still_ isn't seeing what's right, and won't even listen to me try to explain it to her.”

Faith and Spike traded glances over the boxes of clothes, neither of them willing to say out loud the thought they clearly had in common. They both kept resolutely quiet.

Finally, Tara said it for them. “I know, I know. I shouldn't have to explain it to her.”

“Exactly.” Faith pulled out a slinky black halter top, shot through with silver threads. “Hey! I'd almost forgotten about this. She never even got a chance to wear it.”

*~*~*

_Six months ago_

_Sunnydale_

Faith glanced out into the corridor. “He must have slipped off to B. Dalton, 'cause now he's chillin' on a bench with a book in his hands. Who reads books at the _mall?_ ”

Buffy didn't look up from the rack of clothes in front of her. “Uh, a watcher? Ooh! They have a small!” She held up a black halter top with horizontal silver threads shimmering through it at irregular intervals. “Check _this_ out.”

Faith frowned at the draped neckline and slightly shiny fabric. “That's more you than me, B.”

“Well, yeah. Obviously. But Mom wouldn't mind if we got just _one_ thing for me while we're shopping for you, right?”

“You sound like you're trying to convince yourself.”

“So maybe we buy it for you, and I can take it off your hands later, when you decide you don't like it?”

“I've been awake all of four hours, and you're already trying to get me _back_ into trouble. I thought I was supposed to be the bad one?”

Buffy gave her fellow slayer a pleading smile. “You know you wanna break the rules, Faithy.” She held the top in front of her face and twisted it from side to side on its hanger, making the silver threads catch the fluorescent lights above. “Look into my shininess. You want to put me on Mom's credit card, take me home, and give me to Buffy. The pretty shininess compels you to--”

“Didn't get a lot of sleep before that dream woke you up, did you? 'Cause you're getting silly.”

“Not really. I had kind of a late night, worrying about my boyfriend -he's had some stuff going on- and then the wrecking ball woke me up early.” The top was momentarily lowered. “Next stop, coffee shop?”

“Sounds good. ...And you _definitely_ need it.”

The top turned and twisted again, shimmering in Faith's face. “Buy me for Buffy... Buy me...”

Giving up, Faith snatched the hanger and stacked it with those of the clothes she'd picked out for herself. “Look Ma, I'm totally reformed,” she grumbled.

Buffy laughed. “And yet, still totally corruptible.” She steered them toward the cash register. “Don't worry about it. Seriously. If Mom thinks we spent too much, she won't say a word to you about it. She'll just put me on Saturday morning grunt work at the gallery for a month, like she did the _last_ time I went nuts with her credit card. You're safe. _I_ might be paying for our upcoming girls' night out in an awesome new top by opening crates full of weird paintings in a dusty storage room.”

Faith's laugh was cut off by her realization that Buffy was casually assuming they'd be hanging out together, and generally talking to her like they were going to be... friends. Unsure how to react, she decided to roll with it. “You sure you wanna debut this slinky little number on a girls' night? Don't ya wanna save it for that boyfriend you were talking about?”

Buffy shook her head as she dug her mother's credit card out of her pocket. “He wouldn't appreciate it. He's kinda... conservative. Silver and slinky isn't really his thing.”

*~*~*

_Vereen City_

_One month ago_

The light from the cut glass chandeliers caught on her curves, and the silver cocktail dress shimmered a little with every movement. He couldn't take his eyes off of her while she held an animated conversation with a pair of young Deputy Counselors to the Royal Advisory and an aging high court judge.

When she caught him staring, she broke away from the group and walked over to him, smirking at his lusty expression. “If you're bored, I can introduce you to the new Education Advisor. She's right over there, the one in the cream-colored suit.”

Spike didn't give the Advisor even a glance of acknowledgment. “Or...” He couldn't resist the urge to wrap a hand around her waist and pull her shimmering body closer to him.

She shook her head, feigning disappointment. “What _is_ it about these political events that always makes you so desperate to find a nice, isolated broom closet?”

His fingertips skimmed over the silver dress, tracing her curves. “Well, you're never in uniform at these dos, for one. And this particular dress? It's killing me, Slayer.” He leaned in to whisper in her ear, “But this time, we have a posh little hotel suite... right upstairs. As handy as a broom closet, and a helluva lot roomier.”

Buffy pressed her face into his shoulder to muffle her laughter. “Ok, the dress is a winner. Noted. But I really should do a little more mingling before we disappear. The Frandrey doesn't pay for us to come to these things just so I can look pretty and check out the broom closets, you know.”

“Pity.”

She gave him a quick kiss. “One more hour, ok? Then I'll do the luncheon tomorrow, and we'll be home, messing up our own bed, by tomorrow night.”

He glanced toward the ceiling, indicating their suite two stories above the ballroom. “And tonight?”

She leaned in close to his ear to whisper, “I'll leave the dress on as long as you like,” and was sauntering off toward the Education Advisor before he could formulate a reply.

“Lucky fellow,” came a voice from behind him.

Spike turned around to find a thin, middle-aged human man in a bow tie was also watching the silver dress shimmer away.

“Your Katyan?”

“Yeah.”

“I think I've seen her at a couple of these events. Frandrey, isn't she?”

Spike nodded. “Naval Liaison.”

The man's eyes widened. “ _That's_ Captain Summers? The Navy _detests_ her.”

“A fact she wears as a badge of honor.”

“As well she should. Difficult joint services matters may not make _my_ life easier, but Frandrey independence is a vital component of the New Salem Territory retaining some degree of its own. With guard dogs like Summers, the coven elders and all us middle-management fellows below them know we still have enough power to maintain the territory on our own, should political circumstances ever require us to return to an independent condition.”

“Leverage.”

“Insurance. A strong Frandrey is evidence of a strong New Salem the Rasheeni can _see_ , which keeps the government at large from attempting to take advantage.”

Spike raised an eyebrow at the man. “Lawyer or politician?”

“Neither. Legal and Historical Researcher for the Territorial Relations Advisory office.” The man offered a small bow. “Iago Weaver.”

“Spike.” He gestured in the direction Buffy and the Education Advisor had gone. “She does what she does for the Frandrey itself, you know. She doesn't have any particular ties to New Salem, or the tangled politics of a partially integrated territory.”

“She doesn't have to.” Weaver smiled. “But she will. You both will. Soon, I think.”

Spike's eyebrow rose again.

“I'm a reader of more than books,” he explained. “My sole inheritance from ancestors who were notably powerful witches is occasional glimpses into the futures of those in whose eyes I can see. You and your Katyan will grow to care more about New Salem when your first acquaintance from the territory meets with your last from Terra'bo.”

The eyebrow dropped as the entire forehead furrowed. “First New Salem acquaintance... Polly? And the last person I met in Terra'bo? The other slayer?”

“You will understand.” Weaver offered another bow, ending the conversation, and then strolled off to the snack bar as if they'd been discussing nothing of significance.

Spike went immediately in the other direction, toward a clump of Royal Advisors and Coven Elders, who were having one of those less-than-subtle conversations that were trying to appear to be cocktail party chit-chat while being obviously about policy. “Elder Jessup?” he asked with forced politeness. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

“Excuse me, friends. It appears I've been negligent in my mingling duties.” Polly Jessup hooked her arm into Spike's and let him lead her away, leaning in to whisper, “My thanks for the rescue!” as soon as they were out of earshot.

“No one forced you into politics, pet.”

“No one warned me becoming an Elder would be so _boring_ ,” she countered as they stepped out onto the veranda. She slipped her arm from his to close the door behind them. “But I know you well enough to know you didn't charge into that den of double-talking nonsense just to liberate me. You want something.”

“Polly! I'm insulted! I'd never--” Spike gave up with a wave of his hand. “Forget it. I can't even fake that. Need to pick your brain about a couple of things.”

When he paused to look into the ballroom through the windows, she waved him toward his point. “If you haven't noticed, Vampire, one of us _is_ getting older.”

He dragged his gaze away from the window. “Sorry. It's just... Have you seen Buffy tonight?”

“We spoke for a few minutes earlier, before we were pulled in opposite directions... Oh.” Polly chuckled when she caught the subtext. “You mean have I _looked at her_ tonight? That dress suits her well.”

Spike's eyes began to drift back toward the window. “It's bloody _fantastic._ ”

“I'm sure you say that about every piece of finery in her closet.” She pulled him toward a pair of chairs that had their backs to the windows. “What _else_ is on your mind?”

“There's a fellow in there.” Spike gestured back toward the ballroom as they settled in. “Name of Weaver. Looks to be some mix of librarian and weasel. Works down here with the Territorial Advisors. And is apparently a seer.”

“Oh, that he is. The Weavers were among the strongest family lines in New Salem. Usually, when power fades in a family, it's a slow process, each generation having slightly less than the one before, until you have the population we have now: most humans have only minor abilities that they can trace back through their ancestral line like they would eye or hair color, that otherwise aren't really of much interest or import.

“The Weavers, though... That was different. They've always been seers, every generation had at least one born with the knack of it -usually more- no matter how powerful or not their Katyans' family lines. Weaver Seers were one of those things our society could always count on having. Until a few generations ago. The power and abilities dropped away abruptly after Iago's great-great-grandmother and her cousins were born. It was as if someone had spun a dimmer switch, drastically lowering the power levels of the family all at once. Every Weaver since has had extremely limited innate access to magic. No one knows exactly why.”

“This Weaver's sight doesn't seem all that limited.” Spike went over his exchange with Iago, ending with, “He's sure about it, too. Trust me on that. I know seers. Spent a century and change with one. This Weaver bloke wasn't guessing.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he saw just enough to send a message to you and Buffy, hinting you should have long ago begun to participate in the political life of your adopted homeland, beyond the confines of the issues you are forced to confront professionally.”

He rolled his eyes. “I didn't drag you out here so you could nag me to vote.”

“All human adults are eligible to participate in Elder elections, no matter where they live, Spike.” Polly shut down his attempt to argue with a stern look. “From a purely legal standpoint, that includes _you._ Did you or did you not process your immigration through New Salem?”

“Yeah, but that was set up by you and Pete--”

She cut him off with another look. “So vote.” Her expression softened and she leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. “Apologies. That wasn't the point I was trying to make. This job is rapidly turning me into an opportunist.”

“And yet you're running for re-election.”

“If I win, I think my second term should be my last. I find I'm beginning to look back fondly at the last Calan war.”

“You slept through half of it.”

“Precisely.” Polly opened her eyes and turned to look at him. “My point, Spike, is that Iago's prophecy could as easily be about the past as about the future. That is, if you're sure you met no one else that night.”

Spike shook his head. “Met the other slayer maybe an hour before she and I both met you. But he seemed right sure this was something that was coming.” He leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. “If he's right, and she's coming to New Salem... One of them will _have_ to go back. If she won't...”

“Buffy will,” Polly finished.

“You know we can't, Polly. It's just been too bloody long, at this point. No matter what sense of duty might cloud up her thinking if... Especially now that we've met Aaron.”

“I know,” she said quietly. She reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever Iago Weaver saw certainly involved me at least as much as it involves you and Buffy. We'll sort it out together when the time comes. I'll be right there with you.”

*~*~*

_Sunnydale_

_Today_

Tara looked from slayer to vampire as they silently studied each other, with the silver-accented halter top between them. “Uh, guys?”

“It was you,” Faith murmured.

“It wasn't you,” Spike said at nearly the same time. His gaze drifted to Tara.

She looked back at both of them, thoroughly confused.

Faith pulled the retail tag off the halter. “You were who she was _really_ hoping would see her in this. She said her boyfriend wouldn't go for it, but she wanted to wear it on a night out. Two slayers, out together, and a vamp with your rep hanging around in town. She _had_ to have been counting on you turning up. You like her in silver and black, don't you?”

Spike's mind was still elsewhere. He lifted the top from her hands and tossed it into the basket beside Tara. “See her in dark grey more often, but close enough.”

Tara blushed at his continued focus in her direction. “D-did I do something?”

“You're fine, pet.” He turned his attention back to the box of underclothes before him. “You and Buffy had a night out planned?” he asked Faith, in an effort to keep the conversation in motion while he sorted through his thoughts.

“I thought it would be like old times, you know? Like the few good months we had as friends before I ruined... well, everything. Turns out, all I got was a few hours to daydream about it, and then there was a witch and a demon bleeding on the ground in the middle of Restfield, and everything changed.”

“Demon,” Spike murmured, still sounding distracted. “Haven't thought in those terms in a long bloody time. We just call Drav's species Rasheeni. That lot across the Pritinga Ocean are the Jorosi. It's just them, the humans, and me, more or less.” He gestured for Tara to move the basket closer to him, and dumped a handful of items into it. “Actually caught me off-guard, hearing that word so much from you lot tonight. Joyce, especially. When she saw some snaps I have of Persh and the boys, and little Kreena... Odd how you get used to things being a certain way.”

“Who's Kreena?” Tara asked. “I mean, if you don't mind saying.”

“Our niece, Tray and Neela's sprog.” Spike vetoed a top Faith held up from her box with a shake of his head. “We met Traygo during the war. Both got friendly with him, but he and Buffy got a lot closer, then and after. He took her as a sister sometime around the end of the war, but I can't get either of 'em to say exactly what it was got them bonded so tight.”

“Hang on. Are you saying B's got a demon friend who's like a _brother_ to her?”

“Not like. _Is._ ” He tried to wave it off. “It's just how the culture is. If you feel like family with someone, you're actually _called_ family. The word isn't limited to blood ties.”

“That sounds nice,” Tara whispered.

“ _You_ don't have to deal with Tray's uppity relatives. His mum's alright, but the rest of 'em...” Spike shook his head. “If that obnoxious a great aunt of his weren't at least as old as I am, I'd gladly use her for target practice.”

Faith burst into laughter. “So you're saying you guys have in-law problems? Like normal people? But with _Buffy's_ demon family?”

“Honestly? I doubt she'd get in the way if I decided to take a swing at ol' Vellga, unless she wanted to steal the first punch. Neither of us will, for Tray's mum's sake.” He shook his head. “But sometimes, it's tempting.”

Tara couldn't help but join Faith in laughing at him. “She's right! It's _just_ like the bickering in-laws you see in movies! Do you have a holiday like Thanksgiving?”

“Not exactly, but there are more than enough get togethers without it.”

*~*~*

_Vereen City_

_One month ago_

Buffy zipped her silver dress and Spike's black suit into the garment bag while she continued her phone call. “I'm sorry, Mother Kreena, but it's my sacred duty as the official Cool Aunt to buy something stupid, frivolous, and preferably loud. If everyone else is getting little Kreena practical and educational birthday gifts, that's all the more reason for me _not_ to.”

Spike snickered at the extreme eye roll that was turned his direction while Buffy listened to the reply.

“I'm not saying Great Aunt Vellga is wrong. I'm only saying that four-year-olds like toys, and not all toys have to teach them something more complex than 'this noisy thing makes my parents crazy.'” She sighed. “Tell Vellga I will clear my gift with _Neela and Tray_ before I buy it. I see no reason to get anyone else's approval.”

Spike pantomimed strangling Vellga while wearing an exaggerated expression of rage, complete with fangs, causing Buffy to have to turn away as she struggled to keep from laughing in her caller's ear.

“I'm not trying to start a fight, Mother, but you know as well as I do she has no business getting this deeply into the birthday planning. Neela is perfectly capable-- ...Yes, I remember Harvo's wake quite well, actually. But I don't think leaving us alone on the porch and washing a few dishes absolves her of--”

Buffy sighed again. “I promise I'll make every effort to keep the peace, but you've _got_ to get her to stop doing this stuff. Acting like Tray and Neela don't know what they're doing as parents isn't going to make either of them like her any better. If Vellga doesn't back off, she's going to alienate Neela as much as she's already alienated me. And if Neela and I are both in favor of cutting her off, you _know_ Tray will do it. I don't mean to make that sound like a threat. I just mean... Talk to her? Please?”

She turned back toward Spike, and gestured for him to finish packing. “Ok. I'll talk to you soon. … We will, I promise. … We haven't so far, even when we lived here for a year. I think we're fine. … I'll tell him. Bye.” She ended the call. “Mother Kreena says 'hello.' I had to promise we'd be careful going home, and not to get pick-pocketed while we're in the capital.”

Spike stared at her. “You're joking.”

“Nope.” She stepped into the bathroom to pack her toiletries. “Remember that wonderful, golden time when we first came to Rasheen, and didn't have anybody mother-henning us?”

“You mean that first hour or so, before we met Pete?”

“Point taken. But he has _never_ been like Kreena is. And then there's Great Aunt Vellga, here to make everyone regret making family ties with _anyone_...” Buffy's groan of frustration could be heard from the neighboring room. “It wouldn't be so bad if Kreena would just be _consistent._ She stands up to Vellga occasionally, but then she backs down, and starts making excuses. 'Vellga's old.' 'Vellga means well.' 'This is how she shows she cares.' 'I wouldn't want to upset her.' Etcetera, etcetera. It's driving me crazy!”

“Price of family, love. Putting up with some of 'em for the sake of keeping together the lot. Not that I don't want to knock out the old bat now and again, but Kreena's right to try to smooth things out around her.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Buffy poked her head out of the bathroom to catch his eye across the suite. “What the hell are we thinking, trying to drag Aaron into all this?”

“That he's gonna have more family than either of us ever did?”

She wrinkled up her nose. “I'm not totally sold on this being a good thing.”

He gave her an evil grin. “Vellga of Carvgralla can't live forever.”

“You're terrible. Ready to check out?”

“Just about. You?”

“Almost. After I get through this stupid luncheon, I want to swing by Sixth Street--”

“Of course you do.”

“--and then I'll be ready to hit the road. What are you going to do while you wait on me?”

“Eh, putter about downtown. I'm sure I can find a way to kill a couple hours.”

*~*~*

When Spike finally found Iago Weaver's office, he didn't waste time on preliminaries. “When you were reading me at the party last night, did you see anything about a little boy? Three years old, blond hair--”

“Grey eyes,” Weaver finished. “There was one image: I saw the man who will carry him out of the group home.” He shook his head. “I'm sorry to say... It wasn't you.”


	19. Big Brother

 

_**Chapter 19: Big Brother** _

_Five years, eight months ago_

_Vereen City_

It was well after midnight when the buzzing noise on the opposite nightstand woke Spike from the first sleep he'd had in nearly three days. He gave his Leikat a nudge. “Love, your phone.”

“Hmm?”

“Answer your bloody phone, or I'll toss it in the loo.”

With a grunt and grumble, Buffy rolled away from him to reach for the offending device. “Yeah?”

“Are you asleep?” asked a familiar voice.

“We _were._ Finally. Spike didn't get home from work until lunchtime, and it put us seriously behind schedule. We had to catch a later flight down here, and then found out our hotel reservation was screwed up and-- And you didn't call me to hear about my shitty day the night before you walk into the temple.” She flopped back onto her pillow and yawned. “What's up?”

“I can't sleep.”

“You need to. If the trials are anything like what I've heard they are, especially for Rasheeni...”

“I'm pretty sure the trials are _why_ I can't sleep.”

Buffy covered the bottom of her phone. “Jitters,” she whispered to Spike.

He rolled his eyes. “If anyone shouldn't have 'em...”

“Agreed.” Into the phone she said, “Do you want to meet up for a nightcap? Where's your hotel?”

“Mother booked the whole family into Forashon's At The Riverwalk.”

She barely stifled a laugh. “Well, la-di-dah! Aren't _we_ fancy!”

“Would you shut up? It wasn't my idea.”

“Sorry, sorry. I just sometimes forget you come from a long line of small town bluebloods.”

“Bluebloods?”

“Old money, snobbery, and usually some kind of historical pedigree,” she explained.

“Yeah. I guess we have that. Just don't let the family hear you talking like that, will you? They didn't like me inviting Frandrey friends to this in the first place. Having Terra'bo slang thrown at their heritage isn't going to help.”

Buffy frowned at the phone. “Ok, if your infamous and inappropriate sense of humor is taking the night off, something is definitely wrong.”

“No, there isn't. I just can't sleep.”

“Which is a pretty clear statement that something is wrong. Take a walk. From the Riverwalk, go north up 20th for two blocks, then west on Kingsway. At the corner of Kingsway and 19th, there's a trolley stop. Take the next westbound trolley to Sixth. I'll meet you at the plaza park down there, ok?”

“Uh, yeah. I think I can manage that. How do you know--?”

“I lived in the capital for a solid year, remember?” She frowned at the phone again, a thought occurring to her. “Wait. Are you drunk?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Should I just come down to Forashon's and get you?”

“No, no. I can get to Sixth. No problem.”

“Alright, if you're sure... I'll meet you there as soon as I can.” Buffy ended the call and climbed out of bed to start dressing.

“How pissed is he?” Spike asked.

“He's acting all calm and serious. Where are the keys to the rental?”

“Bloody hell, that's a scary thought.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the clothes he'd worn that day. “Left hip pocket. You need the lamp?”

“No, I can manage. Go back to sleep.”

“Want me to tag along?”

She bit her lip as she sat to slip on socks and shoes. “I think this... This kinda has to be between us.”

“Do I wanna know what that means?”

“Nope.” She leaned over the bed to drop a kiss on his cheek. “If I'm not back by morning, call Jerome.”

Spike rolled over, settling back to sleep. “Very funny. ...Likely I'll have to call Metropolitan Police.”

“Your faith in me is amazing,” Buffy grumbled as she fished the car keys out of his pants pocket.

“I just know what you're capable of, Slayer,” he murmured as he drifted off. “You _and_ your bombed bomb maker brother.”

*~*~*

_Sixth Street Plaza, Vereen City_

Buffy parked the rental car in front of the pizza parlor and walked the rest of the way down the deserted plaza to the small park at the north end. When she came into sight of a car parked at the curb near the public facilities at the edge of the park, someone emerged from the driver's seat and waved to her.

In the darkness, the figure looked like Traygo. Similar build, same prominent ears, and even a familiar broad smile when she got closer to him. But when she was close enough to make out the details of his features, the differences were obvious.

“You must be Harvo.”

He offered her a slight bow. “Lieutenant Summers. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Buffy, please. He talks about you a lot.”

“Probably not half as much as he talks about you. I admit I thought he was exaggerating about your size, though. You're... _tiny_.”

She laughed, and nodded toward the restroom door. “Is he in there?”

“Regretting that five course meal Mother foisted upon us this evening in the hotel's restaurant.”

Buffy winced. “How drunk _is_ he, Harvo?”

“I've been with him all night, even overheard part of his call to you. He hasn't had all _that_ much to drink.” He echoed her nod. “This is mostly nerves, I think.”

“Lovely.” She let out slow breath. “Ok. So in terms of a game plan?”

Harvo shrugged. “I talked him into letting me drive him, but he doesn't want me to stay. I think he just wants his sister's voice in his ear tonight.”

“That's what worries me. I don't know what I'm supposed to say to fix whatever is going on in his head.”

“Speak the truth, whatever that is.” He studied her critically. “You support his choice of Neela, don't you?”

“Of course I do. She's perfect for him. He knows it. She knows it. Everyone with half a brain who's ever met him knows it.” Buffy frowned. “But if he was with you all night, why would he even bother calling me? You're like, his favorite person ever, besides Neela herself.”

“Maybe it's because I'm a bachelor. Maybe it has something to do with the war you fellows went through together. The trials aren't easy, they say.”

“He can handle it,” Buffy said with certainty. “He can fight and laugh his way through _anything_.”

Traygo's elder brother continued studying her. “Or maybe it's that confidence.” He moved back toward the driver's side door of his car. “Take care of him?”

“Always.”

“I'll see you at the feast tomorrow, then. Good luck, Buffy.”

“You're not putting the weight of the world on my shoulders, or anything, are you?”

Harvo gave her a familiar grin. “Not the world, exactly. Just our four hundred year long direct family line in Carvgralla. If I'm not going to be providing Mother with grandchildren, _someone_ has to. Don't let him mess this up. Neela keeping Tray keeps the family off _my_ back.”

“You're not helping, Harv,” Tray said as he walked toward them from the restrooms.

“I'm only being honest, little brother. Do you have your room key?”

Tray patted his hip pocket. “Right here. My thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime.” Harvo gave Buffy a parting nod, and climbed into the car. Before he departed, he threw a packet of breath mints out of the window and into Traygo's hands.

“I see he's into subtlety and diplomacy,” Buffy murmured as the car pulled away from the curb.

“About as much as you are.” Tray shoved a handful of mints into his mouth. “Walk?”

“Sure.”

They'd nearly completed their first lap around the small park by the time Traygo began to speak his mind. “She can do better.”

“Maybe. But why would she want to try?”

He shrugged. “Because she knows she can?”

“Oh, boy. We're going to end up walking in more than one kind of circle tonight, aren't we?”

“I just mean... Nee's amazing. She's always on top of everything. Knowing the right thing to say, to do, always looking out for everyone else... If we go in there tomorrow, and pass the trials--”

“Which you will.”

“--she'll be stuck with _me_. For _life._ Not that I don't still think I'll run the clock out on an explosive device one of these days, but I don't know when that will be, how long she'll be stuck waiting around for me to die so she can move on to a better fellow.”

“Do you have any idea how stupid you sound right now?” Buffy shook her head. “Speaking as a fellow member of the 'I really didn't think I'd live this long' club, who also has good reason to be confident her Leikat will outlive her, I get it. I really do. But Neela's crazy in love with you, and has been for _years._ Even if you were to cancel the trials and remain Leikat, she'd still be with you for the rest of your days. You _know_ this. I know you know this, or we wouldn't be having this conversation two miles from the freakin' temple.”

“Maybe we _shouldn't_ be here.” Tray stopped as they were passing the weathered statue of some long dead king, and turned to lean against the plinth. “It was the storm that did it. After our little jaunt through a hurricane, with no phone service... I came home to learn Neela had been nearly out of her mind with worry until you got word to the colonel. She said it felt like going through the war all over again. No contact from the 4th Scouts for half a year, newscasters theorizing we were all dead... The storm was like getting an extra half week of that, tacked on a couple of years late. ...That's when she asked me to come here.”

“Neela is trying to keep you, Tray, in every way that she can. That should tell you something.”

He tilted his head up to look at the moons. “And maybe that's her mistake. She keeps worrying about me, and it's messing up her judgment. What's a woman like that want with an ordnance specialist who could be in the final countdown to his expiration any second? The worry is going to wear her out, one of these years. If we go through the temple, she'll never escape it.”

Buffy fought back a chuckle. “Oh, I think if the worry was going to be too much for her, the entire 4th being missing and presumed dead for so long would have been more than enough to break her. She's tougher than you think she is.” She moved to stand directly in front of him, drawing his gaze down to hers. “Your bartender is in love with you, Staff Sergeant. So much so that another threat of losing you made her want to bring you to the capital to prove herself worthy of you.”

“And me of her,” he added in a whisper. “But sis... What if I'm not?”

She made her skepticism as obvious in her expression as she could. “Do you really think a bunch of priests with potions under their robes and wild beasts on leashes can stop _you?_ The fearless, crazy guy who makes bombs out of random items in a kitchen pantry, just to prove he can?”

“I only did that once!” Tray couldn't hide his reflexive grin. “The other times were on bets.”

“Exactly my point. You can totally pass their trials, easily. In fact, I'll put fifty treelans down on you two cruising through your trials in three days or less.”

“You truly think we might?”

“I really think you don't love me enough to keep me out of Pendle Harbor for a full week.”

He laughed. “It's not that bad of a base, is it?”

“It's not the base, exactly. It's...” She sighed. “It's not important. Right now, all that matters is that you're willing to take the plunge, to...” She locked her gaze on his. “To talk to the brass about a transfer.”

He nodded slowly, understanding. “Rasha and Vereen are a little scarier than Colonel Samuels ever has been. And going from Leikat to Katyan isn't a transfer that can be undone.”

“Please! Like the transfer you talked _me_ into could have been!”

“It could. Any day. To be honest, I sometimes worry about it.”

“Only part of it could.” Buffy busied herself by climbing up to sit on the back of on the bench beside the statue, with her feet on the seat. It was the easiest way she could see to avoid eye contact without it looking intentional. “And you think _Neela_ worries too much?”

“I think everything you've said to me tonight, I could say right back to you. And you'd listen even less.”

She was silent for a few minutes. “How did you know?”

“I didn't. I suspected, from some things you haven't been saying. You're thinking of going back?”

“No. It's way too late for that. I don't belong in Terra'bo anymore, if I ever did.”

“Oh. So if it's not the transfer itself, it's the fellow who waters the drinks.” Tray's voice dropped to a whisper. “I'm sorry, sis. I was hoping I was wrong.”

“So was I. But lately? I feel like... Like I'm waiting for him to leave me.”

Tray's sympathetic expression shifted into one of confusion. “ _What?!_ I thought you were going to tell me you've been fighting a lot, and were thinking of leaving _him._ ”

“It's way worse than fighting a lot. We're fighting _less._ Some days, we're barely talking. Which is actually easier to achieve than you'd think. He's been out of town a lot lately, and I'm trying to earn my keep at work...” She studied her feet on the seat of the park bench. “I'm putting off the inevitable, I guess, hanging on like this. Anytime now, he's going to realize what I've become, and pack up his things.”

“What you've become? Buffy, you're the same woman you've always been.”

“I wish that were true, but I'm not half who I used to be, and the one person in Rasheen who can see it most clearly is the one person I wish couldn't.” She looked toward the side of the park, where Harvo had been parked when she arrived. “I wish your brother had stayed. He seems sensible. He could talk you into walking into that temple tomorrow. He could tell you you're more than good enough for Nee, and that you'll prove it easily, without feeling like a giant hypocrite with every word.”

Tray pushed himself away from the plinth and joined her on the back of the bench. “Maybe you and Spike are the ones who should be going in there. Maybe you _need_ to prove it to each other. 'Cause I don't think he'd ever leave you, sis. I don't think he'd even want to. As for where you stand, that's obvious, even if you think you fooled everyone.”

“I _did_ fool everyone. Except for you.”

“No,” he laughed. “You very much did _not_ fool _anyone_. Anyone who has ever given it any thought knows _exactly_ why you made your immigration official, and it wasn't because you look good in grey.”

“Maybe I didn't understand the costs as well as I thought I did. I didn't know how much of _me_ it would take to make this work.”

“Is it too much?”

Buffy turned to look at him. “For me, or for him? Because the more I pay, the less he gets.”

“I doubt he sees any of this the same way you do.” Tray grinned as a thought occurred to him. “But I'd love it if you two could take the trials. The priests would have a blast digging through all your neuroses, and I could enjoy the stories of your visions for _years._ ”

“Wow. Thanks,” she grumbled. “I'm feeling the love.”

“It'd all be fun, because--” He waved generally around her head. “--this would be sorted out, and you'd have all the proof in the world that you're still exactly what he wants, no matter how much you _think_ you aren't.”

“Proof would be nice. It's not something we can have, of course. I'm pretty sure half of my life could be summarized as 'I fell in love with a vampire, and things got complicated.' You can add the temple to the very long list of things that summary covers.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Why is the fun stuff always illegal?”

“That would _not_ be fun, Tray. Yeah, being Katyan would be cool, but getting there? If the priests are hard on Rasheeni, and harder on Rasheeni military, how awful would they be to a pair of super-powered off-worlders, one Frandrey, and the other a Dorwie mercenary?”

“Oh, it'd be _brutal_. But the vision stories after...”

“You're a terrible person, Traygo of Carvgralla.”

“Then why are you sitting in a park with me in the middle of the night?”

“Because Neela deserves the Katyan of her dreams, even if he is a terrible person who also chooses the exact wrong sibling to talk some sense into him at an important moment in his life.”

He studied her for a moment. “You know, sis, that's the most honest, direct thing you've said all night.”

“I doubt that.”

“You sounded like you meant it. The first part, at least. About Nee.”

“You and Neela are going to walk into that temple tomorrow, Tray. You're going to show Rasha, Vereen, and those potion-wielding priests what everyone else already knows: You're a great match for each other, and always will be.” She slapped a hand onto his knee. “And I'm going to be there when you come back out, to hassle you for vision stories while everyone else is congratulating you.”

Tray's laughter was brief, as his thoughts drifted back to her situation. “And what will you do? When you go back to Pendle, I mean.”

She shrugged. “Wait for the inevitable, I guess. I should have known staying out of Teetotaler City would have a higher price than I expected. Now I'm just waiting for my bartender to figure it out.”

“I think you're wrong, but...” Tray crossed his arm over hers, to slap a hand onto her knee. “Either way, I'm with you.”

*~*~*

_Today_

_Sunnydale_

Buffy didn't stop walking until she found herself at the docks. She climbed up onto the back of a bench to watch a ship that had just arrived begin to offload its cargo. There was something calming about the sight of sailors who knew their jobs well enough to do them in the dark, and the smell of salt water in the air around her. She took in a long, slow, deep breath, and welcomed the wave of homesickness that followed the exhale.

“Lonely, girl?”

“No.” She gave the vampire who had sidled up beside the bench a half-hearted glance. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought maybe you'd like to take a walk with me. Maybe have a drink some place?”

“Are you hitting on me or planning to have a sip of _me_ for a nightcap? Because either way, the answer is 'no.'”

He struggled to hide his surprise. “Well, if we're putting cards on the table...”

She didn't flinch as he shifted into his demon face. “Ok. That's fair.” She pulled a borrowed stake from the back of her waistband. “I used to be a slayer.”

“You aren't anymore? How's that work?”

“It's kind of a long story. You're new in town, aren't you?”

The vampire slipped back into his human guise. “How'd you know?”

“Well, for starters, you picked a lame hunting ground.” She pointed over her shoulder, toward downtown. “The clubs and bars are that way. Also, you don't recognize me.” She sighed. “This used to be my town.”

“Huh. I'd heard there were two, but the only one anyone talks about is the one with the accent. She's from somewhere out east, right?”

“Boston.” The stake was lowered. “I'd suggest you skip town before you get to hear it for yourself. She's less likely to be willing to have a peaceful conversation with you than I am. And you might want to check into getting your meals from butcher shops, since you clearly suck at this hunting thing.”

“Hey! I do alright!”

“Please! I didn't buy the pick up for a second, and I was barely paying attention.”

“Not every girl walks around at night with stakes in her pockets,” he argued. “Some girls go for it.”

“Some girls are idiots.” She slipped the stake back into her waistband. “Now go away. I came out here to think, not to fight.”

“If you aren't a slayer anymore...” He took a step closer to her.

“Don't even try it. I can still kill you without even breaking a sweat, even if I _am_ just a desk officer.”

“Officer? You're military? My brother was in the Army.”

“Until you ate him?”

The vampire glared at her, clearly insulted. “No!”

“Good for you.”

“He was a desk guy, too. His last assignment was doing some kind of paperwork stuff for a quartermaster, whatever that is. We never got a chance to talk about it.”

“Supplies,” Buffy explained. “In simple terms, quartermasters are the guys who get all the supplies that keep soldiers alive going where they need to go. It's a pretty important job.”

“Cool.” He leaned against a lamppost beside the bench. “He died before I did, if you were wondering.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she murmured.

“You got a brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Older?”

“Yep.”

“So you know. A good big brother is _everything_. I started drinking a lot after that, ended up dying in a back alley behind a bar... ”

“And now you troll docks and other back allies, looking for victims of your own?” She shook her head. “I don't get it. What is it about vamps that makes them have to be a hundred years old before they ever even try to stop and think about stuff? Your entire species takes 'young and stupid' to the extreme.”

The vampire laughed. “Ok. _Now_ I might buy that you used to be a slayer. Most humans wouldn't know enough about vamps to bitch like that.”

She turned to face him. “You're actually the first young vamp I've talked to in a _really_ long time. You've --How do I put this politely?-- reminded me of some old frustrations. My vamp is pretty far on the other side of 100, and he's still stupid and impulsive a lot of the time, but at least he's not as thoughtless as _you_.”

“First, ouch. That was mean. Second, you have a vamp? Like, you keep him as a pet, or something?”

“No, not like that. All I'm saying is, you're reminding me of the upsides to not being a slayer anymore.”

“Gee, thanks. So is that why you quit? 'Cause if young vamps annoy you, it kinda sounds like you had the perfect job. Also, you're mean enough that I kinda think you'd be good at it. Not on me, of course.”

“Of course. I quit because... Because my brother talked some sense into me. A couple of times.”

“They're good for that.”

“Yeah.”

“My brother was fond of the saying, 'quitters never win.'”

Buffy watched the vampire from the corner of her eye. He was staring at her throat. She reached for the stake again, only to rest her hand on it in a silent warning. “ _My_ brother blows things up. For _fun_.”

The vampire leaned away from her and glanced around. “He's not here, too, is he?”

“Is it better to just be annoying a retired slayer?”

“Well, no. I guess not.”

“So why are you still here? Because if you're waiting for me to let my guard down, I can already tell you, you'll have to worry about sunrise first.”

“Maybe I think you're bluffing me. Maybe you're really an ex-slayer, maybe you're not.” He shifted back into his demon face. “Maybe you're not nearly as scary as you want me to think you--”

The vampire exploded into ash before he could finish his statement.

Buffy stared at the tiny fragments of him as they fell to earth in the glare of the lamp he'd been standing under. She slowly raised her gaze up to see the owner of the stake that had come through the vampire's back. “Why?” she asked in a stunned whisper. “He... He wasn't hurting anyone.”

“He was about to try for a bite of Buffster, wasn't he?” Xander tucked the stake back into his jacket pocket as he studied her expression. “Are you ok?”

“I just... I haven't seen a vampire go poof in almost a decade. In person, I mean. Nightmares don't count.” She watched Xander step unhesitatingly into the place that had just been occupied by the vampire. “I didn't think it was... necessary.”

“Yeah. I guess it makes sense that you'd be out of practice.” Xander leaned comfortably against the lamp post, and looked out to the docks. “So why here? When I went to your mom's place to talk to you, Spike said you went for a walk, and here would be my best bet for finding you, but he didn't say why.”

“I work with the Navy. That's all.”

Xander seemed unconvinced. “That's all?”

“There's more to it... Spike knows what I have on my mind right now. He probably thought...” Her gaze finally broke from the fallen ashes of her acquaintance to look back at the ship. “This would make sense.” She tried to shake away the mental image of the staking. “I think I'd forgotten...”

“What'd you forget? And what do you have on your mind that sniffing fishy salt water could possibly help with?”

“How brutal life here can be. All the thoughtless violence... Not that I don't have my share of bodies behind me, but they weren't indiscriminate kills. They were people who posed a threat, soldiers of one kind or another. That vampire... We were just talking. You know, the way strangers in neighboring seats talk on a plane. Nothing very personal, but having the buffer of anonymity to say things you don't often get to say.”

“Buff, the guy had his fangs out, and was ready to pounce.”

“I don't think he was going to. I think he liked being given a chance to talk about his brother too much to blow it.” She smiled. “And I never pass up a chance to talk about mine.”

“Uh... You're an only child.”

“By blood, yes. I had to get myself portaled to another dimension, dropped into a war, and caught up in a personal situation I _knew_ I shouldn't have let happen to get a brother. ...And the rest of his family.”

*~*~*

_Three years, six months ago_

_Carvgralla Village_

Neela had finally gotten the baby settled and was on her way down the steep stairs of her Katyan's ancestral home when there was an unexpected knock on the front door. Her Katyan's cousin reached it before before she did, and tried to turn the guest away.

“We'll be welcoming friends at the funeral,” he said gruffly. “The wake's only for family.”

“I'm sorry. I thought... I mean, I was called...”

Neela hurried to the door at the sound of the familiar voice. “She _is_ family. Let her in, Frenkin.”

Frenkin reluctantly admitted the human into the house. “The elders aren't going to like this, Neela.”

“Then they should have talked Tray into joining another branch of the service, shouldn't they?” she snapped. She ushered Buffy down the hall to the kitchen. “Come with me. I have a houseful of thirsty people to tend to, and Kreena keeps interrupting. You and my uncle need to have a serious talk with that child about when she's allowed to be fussy, and when she isn't.”

“I thought we signed up to be emergency back-up parents, not Miss Manners for babies.”

Neela pulled a glass out of a kitchen cabinet and poured two fingers of Jorosi whiskey into it. “Miss Manners?”

“Terra'bo advice columnist who specialized in answering etiquette questions.”

She offered the drink. “And this particular rudeness doesn't constitute an emergency? Especially when she's distracting the designated bartender at a wake?”

“I'm not going to try to reason with a six month old, Nee.” Buffy unclipped the baby monitor from her friend's belt and attached it to her own. “You sound like you need a break.”

“Thank you.” Neela smiled gratefully and set to work mixing another round of the drinks she'd been making for the group of people talking in the great room.

Buffy wandered back to the kitchen doorway with her own drink, listening to the same conversation. “How is he holding up?” she finally asked.

“He's devastated. You know how much he looked up to Harvo. Ever since they were small, Tray's big brother was his hero.”

“It's hard for me to imagine Tray as a kid. You know, a kid-sized kid.”

Neela chuckled softly. “You being here will help.”

“I'm kind of afraid it won't. I only met Harvo a couple of times, but Tray's been telling me for years I'm just like him. Maybe I shouldn't be in his face right now.”

“This is exactly when you should be.” Neela snapped her fingers to draw Buffy's eyes her way. “Top your glass and grab one of these trays. You're going to have to show your pale face in that den of old Carvgralla blood sooner or later. It may as well be when you're being useful.”

“I can't tell if you're trying to be helpful or just looking for a barmaid you can pay in whiskey.”

Neela shrugged and handed her a tray full of drinks. “I like to multi-task.” She picked up the other tray and led the way to the great room.

The conversation stopped at the sight of a human face.

“What is the meaning of this, Neela?” Traygo's great-aunt Vellga demanded. “Frenkin, you said the person at the door was fay to Traygo.”

“No, Grandmother. I said, 'fay'rol.'”

Traygo rose to his feet. “Got it right the first time.” He gave Buffy a weak smile from across the room. “Hey, sis,” he nearly whispered.

“Hey,” Buffy replied at the same volume. She placed the drinks she carried on the table, retrieved her own from the serving tray, and stepped back from the crowd, circumventing them to come around to his side of the room, ignoring the snide remarks being uttered about 'Traygo's Frandrey people.'

Tray's mother held out a hand to stop Buffy's rush to evade the family. She stood up and gave the much smaller woman a hug, while throwing pointed looks at some of her relatives. “Thank you for coming, Lieutenant Summers.” In a low whisper she added, “I think my boy needs you this night.”

“Please call me Buffy. I'm so sorry for your loss, Mother Kreena.” Buffy whispered back as she returned the hug, “Thank Neela. She asked me to come early.”

When the elder Kreena broke the hug, she threw a grateful glance at her surviving son's Katyan. Behind her, Tray caught Buffy's eye and suggested an exit with a nod.

Neela intercepted their escape just long enough to take back the baby monitor. “I didn't actually call you to be a babysitter,” she said softly.

Tray dropped a kiss on his Katyan's cheek in gratitude, and then led Buffy out through the dining room to the large side porch.

Two hours later, after receiving parting condolences from her guests, the elder Kreena slipped off to the dining room to have a look through one of its tall windows. They were clustered in a row on the porch steps. Neela sat to the left, rocking the baby in her arms. Traygo sat between his Katyan and his old wartime friend, leaning his large frame into the strong embrace of the latter, his body shaking with grief.

“Maybe his Frandrey people are good for something, after all,” came a voice from the next window over.

Kreena jumped slightly, startled, then resumed watching the group on the porch. “I thought you'd gone home, Aunt Vellga.”

“I stayed to help Neela clean up the kitchen, but that babe doesn't want to be away from her mother much this night. I may be on my own.” Vellga frowned at her niece. “There's no need to watch him every second, Kreena. I doubt the gods mean to take them both from you.”

“No,” Kreena whispered. “They mean to offer me a kindness to ease my way, I think. Take a son, but see that I get two fine daughters to care for the other. And a granddaughter of my name, besides.”

“You mean to claim that human as family, now?”

“I don't need to. Traygo already has.” Kreena watched them for another minute before finally turning away from the window. “Thank Vereen my wild baby boy has two good, strong women in his life, Aunt. It doesn't matter that one of them looks a little out of place to us. She doesn't to him.”


End file.
